


The Devil Among Them

by psytronix



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: AU, BDSM, Batman universe fusion, Choking, Doggy Style, Domination, Domination / Submission, F/F, F/M, Gen, Genderswap, Humiliation, Mind Break, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Oral Sex, Poisoning, Revenge Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rule 63, Submission, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Abuse, Xanatos Gambits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psytronix/pseuds/psytronix
Summary: After being lured by an invitation to a memorial service from the Penguin's daughter, Batman is introduced to a new strain of Scarecrow's toxin - can he regain control of himself before it's too late? Featuring an AU that's a mishmash of the Arkham games, Animated Series, and various comics, here and there.
Relationships: Bane/Bruce Wayne, Harleen Quinzel/Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne, Killer Croc/Bruce Wayne, Pamela Isley/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	1. The Devil

Evening fell upon Gotham. Though the city had been bombed, beaten, and broken, it remained ever strong, ever resilient. The same could be said for its residents - enjoying, for the first time in years, a quiet peace. One by one, gangs had fallen silent, masked villains and supervillains had been brought to heel by the very night in which they’d called home.

Though no one revelled in this calm more than the Dark Knight himself.

The nights became less active, all for the better - families stayed safe, belongings stayed where they should, and a person could walk down the streets without fear of being preyed upon. Though Gotham kept it’s Knight, the Bat Family was broken, by choice, leaving the battered Robins & Batfolk to their own lives. So still, Batman stayed behind. Keeping his eye on things. Keeping his hand on the communicator, should anyone call. 

As evening fell upon Gotham, Bruce sighed, relieved. Again he poured over the details of the invitation he’d been given, weeks prior;

_To friends and family of the late Oswald Cobblepot,_

_Please, give us the honour of your presence on the 6th of December at Gotham City Hall, where we shall unveil father Oswald’s last great gift to this city._

_Food, drink, and cheer aplenty will await you all @ 6PM._

_Ta-ta,_

_~Penny Cobblepot~_

Bruce had indeed heard of Oswald’s passing before - caused by a vicious lung cancer that could’ve only been exacerbated by the persistent smoke and mist of the Iceberg Lounge. As well he’d heard of Penny - never seen the woman, as she’d been raised and educated outside Gotham for the majority of her life.

This didn’t strike him as a trap, but it made him wonder - could Penny have been groomed to run the family business? To take over Oswald’s _nom de guerre_ & share of Gotham’s underbelly?

James Gordon, now retired, had received the same invite, along with a good chunk of the Gothamite social elite. If it were a trap, it was perfectly timed; for if tensions weren’t as low as they were, he wouldn’t have stepped foot into City Hall as a civilian. With cautious fingers pouring over the gold & silver lining of the hand-pressed paper, he took in the scent, chuckling.

“Something smells fishy,” He joked, eliciting a quiet chuckle from his first date, Zatanna Zatara. Sensing the incoming ‘thwack’ to the back of his head, Zatanna suppressed a further giggle as Bruce’s second date scolded him.

“For God’s sake, the man is dead Bruce! If we’re going to be an hour late, then the very _least_ you can do is _act_ solemn!” Jaina Hudson hissed, straightening her dark-blue salwar kameez. Falling in step, farewelling Alfred, Bruce wiped the smile from his face, taking either lady’s arm in his.

“You’re right, Jaina. My apologies,” he purred, tracing a touch over her digits. She fought a blush, and shook her head, unable to beat down her own grin.

“I don’t know, _John_ , I feel the least you could do would be to treat us to a good night. That means no flirting whilst you have two lovely women by your side-” Zatanna began.

“No throwing insults to Oswald whilst his daughter hosts us,” Jaina added, sighing wearily.

“-And no shop talk unless prompted. Penny has just lost her dad. As scummy as he was, no one in their right mind would want to be reminded of their parent’s worst dealings at this point,” the magician finished, conjuring a handkerchief to wipe an errant tear from her eye.

Bruce clenched at that thought, remaining quiet for a moment. Squeezing Zatanna’s hand, he nodded to them both, taking a deep breath. Two men, short and round of stature, stood at the doors of the hall, dressed in tuxedos. After checking their invites, Bruce, Jaina & Zatanna were let into the City Hall, where the stares of their peers and enemies awaited.

They were ushered quickly to seating, and a silence fell over the gathered crowd. Casually darting his eyes across the room, Bruce noted Jim’s whereabouts, as well as a few members of errant crime families. A lull of soft jazz whisked throughout the hall as a band played their tunes, opening for their orator.

She stood taller than her father, by a foot or so, and had oily black hair, cascading down to the small of her back. Her nose, whilst crooked, lacked the sharp point and warts that Bruce had become accustomed to. From a cursory glance, couldn’t have been older than 30. By all accounts, Penny Cobblepot was a lovely looking woman, who carried herself with confidence on the stage.

She wore a solid black dress, no white highlights, perhaps still in mourning.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, it does truly warm my heart to see you all here. Though I’ve never met a soul in this room, I can pick out the faces of friends my father would go on about. It warms my heart to see he had good taste in company, those covered in renown,” She spoke, a mild yet distinct Southern twang to her deep voice. In particular, she stared at Bruce, smiling, before continuing. 

“It was my father’s dream to see this city grow and prosper - to fight, to keep life strong and hearts happy, even in his own dingy little bar,” She joked, a warm, polite chuckle of the crowd resounding as her response.

 _‘To choke and wrestle control of Gotham for his own whims, more accurately,’_ Bruce bit internally, pouring as much humour into his laugh as he could.

“And he fought valiantly, my father did - keeping his lounge running, keeping his pet penguins happy and healthy, even deep in a ghetto. My father provided entertainment to his neighbourhood like no other father had done before. He cared for all life in Gotham, be it human or animal,” Penny continued, wiping a tear from her eye as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

With supernatural poise, Zatanna leaned, whispering into Bruce’s ear;

“If by ‘ _caring’_ she means _‘slicing tendons with cane-swords’_ , then sure,” she chuckled, appearing to the rest of the crowd as if she’d never moved at all. Bruce suppressed a chortle, a slight twitch of his cheeks showing more than enough mirth for the magician.

To the crowd’s surprise, an emperor penguin waddled forth, opposite Penny on stage.

“So, it is with great honour that I announce the conversion of the Iceberg Lounge to the Oswald Cobblepot Animal Sanctuary - where a city can learn to _live_.”

Thunderous applause and muted laughter awaited Miss Cobblepot, as she presented a gilded plaque to the penguin, farewelling it back off stage. Bruce made a point to clap louder above the crowd, in masked sycophantic fashion. 

Food was served to the crowd as Penny made the rounds of the tables, talking tight with old friends, family, and the social elite. She even stopped a spell by James Gordon’s table, reminiscing that Harlow Dent couldn’t be there to meet her that night. As Bruce, Jaina, and Zatanna made quiet jokes amongst themselves, Penny made her presence known, riding off the humour of her last conversation.

“Ah!” she announced, eyes narrowing, “Jaina, Bruce, I presume?”

“Miss Cobblepot, a pleasure to meet you,” Bruce greeted, placing a courteous kiss on her hand.

“I see our reputation precedes us, and Zatanna and I share Bruce’s pleasure, Penelope,” Jaina introduced the magician, standing to greet their host properly.

“Truly, the pleasure is mine, folks. Father had quite some stories to tell about you both, and of course, who _hasn’t_ heard of the Mistress of Magic!” Penny jostled, fanning herself as a short blush kissed Zatanna’s cheeks.

“Ahem, well, if you’d like an autograph,” Zatanna spoke, spelling her name in sparks, flying from her fingertips, “I’m happy to please a fan.”

Another small applause erupted from around their table, Penny giggling at the display.

“There we go, our thunder - stolen _again_ Bruce,” Jaina joked, sighing wistfully. He snickered, standing as well, and placed a gentle hand on Penny’s shoulder, cracking a soft smile.

“Though I can’t match Zanna’s theatrics, I can say what an honour it was to know your father. We may have had our differences, and we may have butted heads over the years, but Oswald’s determination and brains were truly something to admire,” Bruce assured her, truly believing his calculated statement. The Penguin was tough to take down. Stubborn as hell. And he truly worked his best when he was controlling a show - not fighting with his goons.

Penny couldn’t help but smile back at Bruce, red dusting her cheeks.

“D’aw, I’m sure father would’ve loved to hear you say that, Mister Wayne. And whatever conflict you may have had with him… It’ll end with me,” she chuckled, holding her hands up in faux-defence. 

“By the way, Penelope, I’d be more than happy to provide my expertise regarding funding for the Sanctuary. Really, anything I can to honour the man who kept Gotham _living_ ,” Jaina assured the younger woman, twisting her words to get a reaction out of Bruce. Penny gasped, the red on her cheeks darkening, and took Jaina’s hands in her own.

“I… D’aw, I really do appreciate that, Miss Hudson. A-And I’m sorry to have to leave you three, but I’ve got a whole room to talk to-”

“No need to apologise, you’re the star for the evening, Penny! We’ll talk again if we can, and if not - Bruce and Jaina will keep in touch, I’m sure,” Zatanna assured. Bruce and Jaina nodded, echoing the magician’s farewell.

“Ah, of course. Thank you all, and ta-ta, folks!”

Once the three were sure Oswald’s daughter was out of earshot, they glared at one another.

“I thought I said no shop-talk, Jaina,” Zatanna bit, arms crossed over her chest.

“It was purely a facade, Zatanna. You don’t hear me raising a stink over Bruce undressing Penny with his eyes!” Jaina bit back in defence. 

“Only to get back at you for “the man who kept Gotham living” comment, Jaina. Purely strategical, otherwise,” Bruce chuckled, with a quiet shake of his head.

“You’re not getting off the hook that easily Bruce. You _tower_ over her - that must’ve felt _choking_ for that poor girl,” Zatanna chided him, narrowing her gaze. Bruce met the magician’s steely look, making sure to lower his voice.

“We needed to get a read on her. I planted a microchip on the strap of her dress, which should allow us to keep track of her location, and listen in on any further conversations,” he spoke, the voice of the Batman slipping through slightly as he tuned a signal on his wristwatch.

“I’ve just tuned in our communicators to the chip’s signal.”

“So far, she seems like a regular woman. You can barely even tell she’s Oswald’s daughter,” Jaina mused, swallowing a cautious lump in her throat.

“Then again, Oswald rarely _squawked_ in public. We can’t rule her out just yet,” Zatanna joked.

The drinks and food poured in still as Penny ended her rounds, ducking to the kitchens of the city hall. Bruce, Jaina and Zatanna filtered out the inane chatter of the Penguin’s old business partners and family friends, talking amidst themselves, until a distinct sound played over their communicators.

“Sounds like… Levers, pulleys, that metal groaning… An elevator?” Jaina noted, quickly sobering herself.

“Could be used by loaders and the chefs, gotta have easy access to their store room and freezers, after all,” the magician reasoned, dancing a dime between her fingers.

“It wouldn’t go this deep,” Bruce added, following Zatanna’s train of thought, “and more than likely, Penelope would have no reason to drop down there by herself… It’s stopped.”

Faint footsteps echoed into the microchip’s microphone, bouncing off the walls of an ancient tunnel system, beneath the heart of Gotham. Penny Cobblepot straightened her dress, hand clutched around her phone. The cold, damp vice of the tunnels gripped her mind, sparking the hairs on the back of her neck - ready to alert her personal guard if needed.

A taunting cackle bounced off the walls of a maintenance room, guiding Penny to her scheduled meeting. Tip-toeing into the dimly lit, damp and dank dwelling, Penny had to suppress a violent gag, shielding her mouth and nose. It was there he met face to face with a painted dame, wearing black and red leather - who stood guard of her lover, her _chaotic queen_.

“Hiya toots - took you long enough!” Harley teased, fingers wrapped around a wired lightswitch.

“My apologies, I got caught up in… Keeping up. I take it you’re Harley Quinn?” Penny asked, standing ramrod straight to masquerade her rising fear.

“Cor-rect, Penguinie! You got _all_ my letters, yeah?” 

“Of course. And behind you - Miss White?” Penny motioned to the long legs poking from the darkness - sat in a rusted chair. A choked giggle sputtered from the shrowd, and the legs receded.

“Jacqueline White, Jacqui Napier, Josephine Kerr - all good monikers, if not for the lack of finesse, my dear Penelope,” she spoke, her breath misting as she parted a loose, green lock out of her eyes.

“I knew your daddy well, and it pains me knowing I’ll never see his nose arrive 5 minutes before him again! I mean sure, love may have moved a mountain or two - but it was a common hate your father and I shared, Miss Cobblepot,” and with that, Harley flicked the switch, revealing to Penny a clown - a jester princess of pain and pageantry.

The white body-paint did well to mask the woman’s features, and the creepy smile and _psycho_ green hair didn’t settle Penny, either. The woman before her presented in such a way that masked a hidden, clouded cunning, and a daring, _bloody_ strength.

“He called me The Joker. I called him fat. It was a... Thing we had,” she tittered, cracking a toothy grin at the scared girl. The air was thick with the scent of paint and blood, and Penny fought every animal instinct in her body that told her to _run._ No, rather, she beat the instinct down, focussing on her unfinished business.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. And… I saw what you wrote, Miss White.”

“Then you’ll know those smokes didn’t take out ‘Ole Ozzy. No mere cancer stick could’ve wacked your papa, Penny - _someone_ was there, at every step of his death, _ensuring_ his tubby thread of life was cut-”

“Hkkkk-” Harley motioned, dragging her thumb across her neck, letting her head fall limp.

“-Short,” the Joker drawled, rising from her chair. She paced around the claustrophobic room, as if to further exert her errant aura of terror - _snickering_ at Penny’s ever shiver or twitch.

“Someone tall, dark, and broody,” Harley added.

“The Batman,” Penny and the Joker answered, the harsh whisper of Penny’s lips contrasting with the Joker’s husky breath.

“The answer to the question no one asked - and the punchline to the most grim, repetitive, and _edgy_ joke there was - the Big Bad, Belligerent Batman!”

“You said he poisoned my father. Slipped things into his meals without looking - filtered gasses into his house and the Lounge... How the hell didn’t that show up in 3 months of hospital trials, Miss White?” demanded the daughter, daring to delve deeper into the Joker’s carefully-woven plot.

“It’s still as I said in those letters. You haven’t met him personally, so let me clear this _right_ up for you - Bats is loaded - filthy rich and full of ways to spend it. I’ve seen him develop serums, anti-serums, poisons, antidotes, and Bat-mantidotes! There isn’t a single chemical on God’s green earth that I haven’t pumped in his veins, or thrown in his eyes…” the Joker answered animatedly, darting back and forth around the Penguin’s daughter.

“Point is, Penguinie - if there were a man with the resources, know-how, and motive to kill ya pops, then it could only be one!” Harley continued, holding up a single finger in the woman’s face. 

Still, Penny stood, resolute.

“B-but I’ve seen the papers, h-heard the stories… Batman _doesn’t_ kill…”

And quick the Joker was, improvising a little white lie;

“A rule he follows, strict as a boy-scout. But even our boring Bats is known to bend his rules from time to time, Penpen. Known to rationalise a death or two for the greater good of Gotham...”

Seeing the swirling of hatred, agony, and fear in Penelope’s eyes, the Joker let her grin falter, let her eyes wander…

“Trust me. Bats and I are more alike than you think. I’ve seen how he works. Without his code, he’d be a criminal, nothing but a _night-terror,”_ she accentuated, coming face-to-face with Penny.

“He’s the bastard that done did ya old man in, Penguinie. And we’ve got the means to get back at him, _right here_ ,” Harley motioned, pointing to a worn and rusted canister, emblazoned with a red jack-o-lantern.

“You… You’d mentioned this as well; Fear Toxin?”

“Scarecrow’s finest. I had her muddy up the formula for me, in exchange for a few… Guinea pigs,” the Joker joked, cutting her laugh short as Harley’s boot grazed the can, nearly tipping it over. Harley’s queen shot her a filthy look, before smiling back at Penny.

“Will it-”

“Kill him? No! No, this crooked concoction was made to tear down the legend of the Batman. To _break_ every moral code in his bonked brain, to _shatter_ every semblance of self-important superiority he thinks he has over the hardworking criminal,” she explained.

Penny dared not to interrupt, nor to inquire on the exact chemical compounds. Second thoughts were biting at the back of her mind - begging her to _hurry this damned deal up_.

“It’ll pump Bats with a mix of the good stuff - serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, endorphins, as well as a healthy heaping of adrenaline. Plus whatever Scarecrow’s flavour of the month is! We’re hoping it’ll-”

With a quick stomp of her leather boots, the Joker silenced Harley - grinning still at the Penguin’s daughter.

“If you want Bats to suffer - to make him _really_ pay for every bloody cough, every _painful, sleepless_ night your poor old daddy got, then…” the Joker reached a hand out for Penny to shake, eyes alight with glorious, skewed vengeance.

“ _Play along.”_

With nothing more than a shuffle of hands and clothing, the communicators fell quiet. Footsteps echoed back as Penny retreated up the elevator, back to the gathered socialites and family friends. Bruce, Jaina and Zatanna shared a look, the former thief in particular running through scenarios in her mind.

“I get an inkling that she’s going to crash this event. Hold Penelope hostage on stage, demand to see _the Batman,”_ Jaina thought aloud, voice barely above a murmur. Bruce nodded to her, sighing, turning his gaze to Zatanna.

“Seems likely. Zanna, are you still able to cloak me, if needed?” He asked.

“Pfft, piece of cake, Bruce. Though I _refuse_ to dress you,” Zatanna giggled, fingers at the ready for a quick snap of magic. Mirth sapped from his mind, Bruce nodded to her, planning his contingencies.

“No need. A drop from the Batwing, duck to a closet, and I’ll be back out in seconds,” he appraised the two of them, “will you both be alright to evacuate the others?”

“You’re the one she wants. She’ll only resort to violence if you test her patience,” Jaina advised.

“Good point. Then as soon as you see green, Bruce, give me the signal.”

It took too long for Penny to reach the surface again. As she exited the kitchen, Bruce could see the jitter in her steps, past the masquerade of a happy host, as she fumbled about with speech cards. The crowd fell silent as she nearly tripped up the stairs to her podium, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

“Dear friends, we’re now about to move on to tonight’s entertainment, featuring the m-musings of a little jazz band my father loved, the Swoonin’-”

Zatanna could practically _sense_ the grin on the Joker’s face as her grand-entrance bomb detonated, flinging glass and wood against the crowd, ripping a good chunk of the hall. Jaina prepared to split herself as a magical cloak fell over them, Bruce sprinting away from the scene as debris settled around them all.

Dressed in her best, a purple and white tuxedo, Joker skipped to the stage with a cane in hand, trilling and scatting as her goons followed suit - a meagre team of 5, _including Harley_. She felt it a far cry from her heyday as a cult leader to thousands, but did her best with the resources at hand. The clown wrapped her arm tightly around Penny’s neck, and had her minions point their rifles at the crowd, to suppress any sort of uprising.

“Now-now,” she tutted, ignoring Penny’s weak attempts at escape, “we all know this song and dance. I’m a bit short on cash these days, and I’m in need of… A _loan_ . So, throw your bits and baubles to the stage, and my lovely assistant _Harley_ here will collect, in good spirit.”

A quiet murmur in the crowd was shut down by a burst of bullets being fired into the ceiling, silencing any doubt. Necklaces, watches and wallets were thrown to Joker’s feet, as Harley skipped up and down the stage, swinging her hammer haphazardly. 

“Please, ladies and gents - take all the time you need, I’ll be here all night! Though, if you’d like to keep the little Miss Cobblepot’s head intact, I’d suggest coughing up your coffers _now!_ ” She enunciated, whipping out a small revolver, clicking it against the young woman’s head.

A diamond-studded ring was tossed to the podium - and from it’s arc to it’s descent, a shadow danced across their stage - the limelight stolen _again_. The agents of the clown princess were whisked away by unbreakable tethers, hung upside-down from the ceiling, as Harley did her best to act surprised.

“Oh no Missus J - c-could it be the, the-”

He gave them no time to react - no time to conceive a line for their wicked play. Harley was taken down in the space of two seconds, Batman having dodged a potshot taken by the Joker, which scored a hole through his cape. He whipped around the podium as Joker separated herself from Penny, throwing her to the ground, and disabled her just as easily.

 _Too easily_. 

In the space of a second, he’d took note of any pains or pricks to his body, but found none. He ensured he’d made no contact with the toxin; airborne or otherwise, and saw no syringes on either of the jester duo. Batman darted a gaze back to the crowd, noticing evacuation already taking place, with Jim and Zatanna at the helm.

“Oh, egads - defeated _again_ by Gotham’s dark prince! Victory, snatched out of my wicked, wicked hands!” The Joker wailed, groaning and moaning all the while, as she crawled away from the cape-clad hero. He stalked over to her, prying her hands apart, finding her suit jacket _lined_ with fall-protected injections of fear toxin.

“End of the line, Joker,” he growled, rearing a fist back to knock out the jester, before he was knocked onto his back by a flying knee. Dazed, he launched back up to a standing position, crouching low - sneering at his attacker.

_“White Rabbit.”_

She grinned, baring her pearly whites at the outnumbered bat. He felt the gentle creak in the floor as Harley picked herself back up, and found himself encircled - the Joker looking no worse for wear as she leapt back to her feet, holding back a snigger. Batman threw a smoke bomb at his feet, cloaking his escape to the audience’s seats, whisking Penny away as well. She fought and fought, bashing against his armour, but to no avail, feeling a cold glove wrap around her mouth to silence her.

“Masquerading as a table-cloth, Bats? Surely you could do better than that! Wee Rabbit - hit him with a spark of the good stuff!”

In an instant, his nerves were alight with _fire_ \- electricity sparking through every vein, every nerve, making him glow, stand out from the darkness he encased himself in. He threw Penny away the instant before the sparks flew, and attempted to rip off a small device on his suit - the source of the electrical attack.

He tried to crane his neck back to where Jim and Zatanna had been, and found only Jaina, bound and gagged by her alter ego, no doubt. He remained, grunting and biting out breaths as the sparks darted across his body, penetrating even through the deepest insulation of his armour. He roared with pain as the Joker, Harley, and the White Rabbit encircled him once more, skulking like lions around prey.

“Good efforts, bat-brain, but not _quite_ what we were looking for! You pissed off _one_ too many members of the Gallery this time!” Harley taunted, delivering a swift kick to the man’s ribs, cackling.

“Here-here. Try as you might, Bats, you can’t escape this little concoction - you’ll be up to your eyes ‘ole Scarecrow’s best brew until Christmas time!”

Joker let the Rabbit linger on the electrocution for a bit longer before commanding her to stop, the hero finally lying limp on the ground. He managed to get a glimpse of the horrified progeny of the Penguin herself, staring on in horror at what she’d wrought upon Gotham. Tossing syringes between them, they drove the needles past the armour; through cracks and weakpoints, joints and crannies. 

“This’ll teach you, Bats - every rehabilitative effort you’ve gone through for Gotham will all be for naught - each tingle of fear you’ve nailed into the hearts of me and my crew shall be _erased_ , and soon you’ll be known as nothing more than a _lunatic_ , raving and raping the streets in his batsuit!”

“Wh-what!? Raping!?” Penny sputtered.

The clown laughed, squeezing pure, potent toxin directly into the fried veins of her nemesis.

“Oh yeah, that’s the best part, and oh - thanks for reminding me!”

She leapt back, with Harley in tow, advising White Rabbit to do the same. It may have been 20, 30 syringes in total they pressed into his body - pumping him full of a nightmarish cocktail of brain-addling drugs. The Joker hollered as Batman began to rise, hands shaking as he gingerly removed the needles from his back.

“Penguinie - I’d suggest hightailing outta here _right_ now!” Harley roared. 

Torn, truly torn, Penny fumbled about before noticing an awful, dark glint to the Batman’s eyes. An evolutionary sense of dread kicked into her, and her body commanded a safe sprint away from the hungry, hungry foe - to retreat without looking back. She bolted past Zatanna, who was now hovering back to the hall, catching sight of what had just transpired.

The magician quickly undid Jaina’s bindings, noticing the escaping trio, soon after rushing for Bruce.

“Bonsoir, mes amis! I think you’ll enjoy the encore more than tonight’s main event!”

“Bruce? Damn it, Bruce? Are you okay? Good god, what have they done to you - do you need me to contact Alfred!?” She yelled, delicately plucking the rest of the needles from the hero’s back, ignoring the building heat surrounding him. 

He snatched her hand as she dropped the final needle, and met her gaze with fear, fury, and _fire._

“I need you to **run** ,” he uttered.

  
  



	2. The Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things don't go as planned for the Gallery.

Every vein in his body pressed against his skin. His armour felt too hot, too  _ tight _ , and he could sense that heat rising within him; what he’d felt years ago with Talia, with Selena, with Zatanna. It spelt trouble, and fired off warning signals inside his head like no other. Bruce knew that the next few nights were going to be something he couldn’t turn back from - be it by his own death, or by the “death” of the Batman, as the Joker put it.

Snow began to fall as he barely managed to scrape his way to an awaiting batmobile, all but throwing himself into the driver’s seat, breath visible in the cold air. As the canopy of the car sealed him in, all systems lit up, and a comm link was established with the Batcave, whirring to life in an instant.

“M-Master Bruce? Madam Zatara has advised me of your condition; do you need a tox-scan run? I can call in any of the family if needed-”

“No!” Batman roared, striking himself in the chest to calm faster, slowing his blood flow, “Until this is dealt with,  _ I  _ am a risk to everyone in Gotham, Alfred, especially the family…”

A horrid weight fell upon the butler’s shoulders as he took notice of Bruce’s features. That horrid black poison was working it’s wicked way through Bruce’s arteries, streaking marks across his face, contrasting against beads of sweat. Remotely, Alfred utilised the Batmobile’s onboard medical systems to take a blood sample from Bruce, and began his analysis from there.

_ ‘Knightfall,’ _ Bruce thought,  _ ‘Lockdown and Knightfall, it has to be  _ **_now_ ** _.’ _

He growled again as he ripped the chest piece from his suit, breathing now heavy with strain, with the liquid lust that was pooling inside. He could feel his cock already wetting at the tip,  _ eager  _ to enact revenge upon those sinister enough to have done this to him. He held onto that revenge, Bruce did - soaring past the nightmarish visions the Fear Toxin usually submitted him to,  _ willing  _ himself unbreakable by mental means.

Alfred witnessed with grief at his degeneration; the shell of the Batmobile now echoing with Bruce’s grunts and groans, before silence fell. The toxin still poured through his veins, but was disappearing now, as he rose to the surface once more. Batman embraced it; dove so strongly into the realm of Scarecrow’s machinations until he saw the other side, and fell back in his seat, panting.

“Master Bruce!?”

_ ‘Knightfall is too good for them.’ _

“Alfred. Initiate the Dæmonia Obsignatorum protocol,” he spoke, voice void of emotion.

Given years of service to Queen and country, Alfred handled the order with poise, though his face had been stricken with sadness. He simply nodded to Bruce first, before bringing the protocol details up on his screen within the Batcave.

“Of course, sir,” he acknowledged, swallowing a lump in his throat, “Length?”

“Indefinite.”

“Severity code?”

“Midnight.”

Alfred’s heart skipped a beat in quiet anguish as the final two fields came into view.

“The… Carnifex, Master Bruce?”

“The Justice League. Code: JUS-00.”

“...And… The Vespillo of choice, sir?”

For a brief moment, the building lust subsided, and Bruce’s face fell.

“Red Hood. Code: FEB51, Authorisation: JUS-39.”

The distinct “beep-beep” of a confirmation signal rang in Bruce’s ears as the protocol was enacted. His vehicle roared with life as he made a beeline towards the Joker’s last known whereabouts; the ruins of Arkham Asylum. Rumour had it that Amadeus Arkham’s very spirit now haunted the grounds, and was even seen at it’s shores, staring towards the city.

Batman found it ironic - amidst the swirling inferno of chemicals in his nervous system - that the Joker would’ve made base back there. Despite her mania, even  _ she  _ despised the place, wary of it’s once-white halls, it’s padded cells, and the torturous past within. As the vehicle provided a path to the facility, Batman took note of every shipment, every dollar, and every  _ message  _ that was sent to or from a member of Gotham’s rogues, now  _ frozen _ .

Alfred remained in contact with him, taking note of the drive behind the eyes under the cowl, and sighed, shaking his head.

“Whatever happens, Master Bruce… I’ll keep the family safe,” he assured him. 

The Dark Knight remained silent for a while, before he matched the butler’s gaze in that hazy video screen.

“Thank you, Alfred... Try to have a Merry Christmas without me,” he uttered, before shutting down all communications to the Batcave, barring himself fully until the protocol would end,  _ if  _ it would. The streets were eerily silent, devoid of any and all life as the people of the city remained inside their homes.

It helped make for a short drive, keeping Batman’s thoughts under control. Though as he ejected himself from the driver’s seat, soaring into the air, he found the lust returning in a wave, crashing upon his body. It pulsed blood straight to his erogenous zones, still encumbered of the rest of his armour. It was getting more and more obvious to him that he was going into a  _ rut _ , and wouldn’t be satisfied in lockdown.

_ ‘No, _ ’ he thought,  _ ‘they have to suffer.  _ **_They_ ** _ did this to me.’ _

He  _ had _ to fuck them. All of them. Every last masked marauder on Gotham’s list. As the final step in his role as Batman, he would rend  _ their  _ empires asunder, ensuring no one else would suffer at their hands. He would bring them all to heel, a venerable harem of hot, haughty hedonists and psychopaths. Locked away forever, away from where they could cause trouble…

The bat landed at the entrance of Arkham Asylum, the crackle of the PA system echoing down the shattered halls. Mighty green tendrils had shot forth and pierced the walls, ensnaring the whole island in a mossy sheen. Even now Batman had to watch his step, lest he trip and be trapped forever, buried beneath rubble and root alike. He figured that Pamela Isley would’ve taken up residence here, if not for the horrid memories, but ceased that line of thought as her body came to mind.

He hunched low now, a growl building in his throat as a bit of precum dribbled down his pant leg. He had to banish the thought of her from his mind - and focus on the task at hand. He did away with her open shirt, perfectly framed tits, small, bouncy ass, and those enticing panties that no doubt hid a red bush. Instead, he focussed on Harley. The Joker. Two primped up, white-faced clowns that needed a good gag, and a good pounding.

As the speakers echoed with a murmur of speech, Batman pressed on, deeper into the dimly-lit facility, past the reception desk. He heard the vibration of the cameras craning their lenses towards him, and flicked a batarang or two, disabling their view. His pace was faster now, moving from a slow prowl to a jog, as thoughts of face-humping the clown princess and her belle filled his mind,  _ vitalised  _ him.

“ _ zzzzzt- _ Is that you bat br-”

In the brief second it took for their realisation to hit, the cape-clad character had short-circuited the speaker system with an EMP grenade, causing the flickering hallways to now be totally clouded in darkness. An evil grin came to him, as if  _ sensing  _ their building fear. They knew they were fucked, figuratively, and soon enough, literally.

He shut his eyes as he allowed his senses to guide him through the dank scent and ensnaring roots of Arkham Asylum, mould, dried blood, and carrion alike swirling around him. He controlled his breaths, and ignored his rock-hard fuckstick to focus on the  _ slightest  _ trace of paint in the air, of Joker’s sweat, Harley’s hairspray. Even with eyes shut, he maintained his pace, turning sharp corners until the scent’s strength increased, now tickling his nostrils.

He found himself near the Patient Pacification Chamber, and heard bickering behind closed doors.

_ “-no backup now! Only these 3 dolts to protect us, Missus J!? What if he’s right here in the building, now!?”  _ Came Harley’s indignant tone, followed by a dull  _ thud _ .

_ “Then I’ll spirit us away, dear Harley! Or let Bats screw one of them, either / or!”  _ giggled the clown princess.

_ “Hey, I know you said the job would involve “dirty work”, but I draw the line at gettin’ fucked by the Bat! My asshole can’t take that, and I sure as fuck-” _

Batman used the reverb of the gunshot to mask his entrance into the vents below the chamber, practically  _ inhaling  _ Joker’s sweet, sweet sweat. The two other guards with them gasped, but didn’t say a word, lest they draw the clown’s ire. The rotation and click of a revolver settling in a new round bounced against the cracked tile-walls, cutting through the resounding ringing in everyone’s ears.

“Now, Harley and I are going to retreat deep, deep underground - and you two are going to make  _ absolutely  _ sure we’re not followed by any and all caped crusaders. Are we clear, chaps?” She asked, too cheery and too chipper.

They nodded, fearing the very  _ squeaks  _ that’d come from their mouths would set her off again. Joker & Harley darted off, stepping cleanly over the vents, where Batman caught a scent, then sight of an upskirt - two creamy thighs squishing together and coming apart to reveal a pair of pink-red panties. The Batman noted a dark patch - perhaps  _ excited  _ over this mess?  _ Keen  _ on getting fucked by an  _ animal _ ?

It was  _ too much _ . 

He launched up, and with two vicious, clean strikes, had disabled their guards. 

Then he smiled at the shocked pair. 

“Harley,  _ run _ !” the Joker screamed, sprinting away. Harley followed suit, damn near tripping over her own hammer. With a smirk, as dark and as dire as death itself, Batman pursued the pair like a predator would, if only to  _ savour  _ the kill. They slammed a door shut behind them, and he responded in kind by tearing it off its hinges as he broke through it, eliciting a further scream or two.

They were headed for an elevator, down a corridor, lined with the same gnarled tendrils that had broken the island. Snow was starting to fill in from the gaps in the roof, dropping the temperature considerably. Harley slowed down as the Joker entered the elevator, desperately mashing the "close door" button. The Joker's second in command, her  _ lover _ , spun round, and readied herself with her hammer, laughing off any fear she had. 

"Missus J, why are we runnin'? It's just the bat, we can just-" she craned her head back to look at her lover, and upon turning back, had a hand wrapped around her throat. Batman slammed her against the wall of the hall, and held her, meeting the Joker's gaze. 

He could only laugh, first at Harley's failure, then at the Joker's cowardice, as she allowed the elevator to close, escaping. He loosened his grip on Harley's throat, and brought his tongue against her cheek, licking upwards until all he could taste was the cheap paint she had applied, mixed with that fearful sweat. 

It felt like a  _ kill  _ in and of itself relishing in the jester's fear, her  _ anguish  _ \- so an idea came to mind. He ignored the sputtering, the kicking and spitting, and used a length of wire to subdue Harley, binding her legs together, and her arms behind her back. He kept her mouth ungagged for the moment, giving himself time to ensure his next act would  _ not  _ go unrecorded,  _ unseen _ . He threw Harley to the cold, cold ground, and took position behind her, chuckling darkly. 

"Back the  _ fuck  _ off, Batbrain! Once Missus J comes back for me, she-" 

He cupped his hand over her mouth, and  _ dared _ to taste her fear again, finding the words amidst a sea of arousal. 

"She won't be coming back. And if she did, I'd  _ destroy  _ her. Face it, Harley - she left you to the  _ wolf _ .”

She began yelling for help, for the Joker to return to her, and attempted to break free of her captor, failing to kick back at him. He responded in kind by locking his hands on her hips, squeezing into her exposed midriff gleefully, fighting against every instinct that screamed “fuck her  _ now _ ”. He instead ground himself against her, tearing at his groin to free his cock, springing to full mast instantly. It was  _ nirvana _ , exposing himself to the cold air, witnessing a waft of steam rise from his tip, practically  _ dribbling  _ with pre.

“W-wait, Batbrain! I-It wasn’t just me and Joker, it was others, too! I-I’ll tell ya all about them i-if you let me go!” She yelled, throat locking, tears spilling from her eyes. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, and wrenched her upwards, closing her nubile body against his, ignoring her yowls of pain. He dragged his tongue upwards, from nape to cheek, and shivered, moaning in delight, feeling every muscle in his body  _ tingle  _ in anticipation.

There were  _ more? _

He was practically  _ giddy _ , almost on the verge of orgasm, and he was given  _ more  _ prey to hunt? Bruce chuckled, the laugh hollow in the jester’s ears - and pressed her face into the ground, using his free hand to lift her ass high into the air. Her tantalising skirt was hiked up, revealing her thick rear, and before  _ losing himself _ , Bruce brought a hand down upon the phat cheeks, marvelling at their wobble.

“No, Bats, n-no!”

_ Oh, yes…. _

He raw-dogged her. Shifting her panties to the side, he slowly sheathed himself inside the hot, wet love canal of Harley Quinn,  _ roaring with pleasure.  _ A scream turned into a muted squeak as Harley continued to try and kick at him, her resistance of squeezing her thighs together only  _ invigorating  _ her rapist, driving the hero  _ mad  _ with rapturous energy. 

Devoid of remorse, he kept on fucking her, savouring her sobs, her wails, mixed in with the sharply-cut breath, or hitch or moan. He pressed on, thrusting like his very being depended on it, almost forgetting to activate a gadget of his. The crude slaps of wet flesh echoed throughout the halls, highlighting yet another crane of cameras, Bruce noticed. He ignored those beautiful, beautiful sounds, the  _ squelch  _ and  _ squeal  _ of Harley’s tight body, and smiled at the cameras, baring teeth.

He varied his rhythm, ensuring his victim would have no method of coping, no sense or direction in her haze of guilt, pleasure, and shame. He would drill into her,  _ hump  _ her, stretching the clown’s pussy to it’s limit, only to pump shallowly for a little while, stroking her g-spot with his meat. 

“N-n-n-n-ah~, f-f-fuck y-ou, Bats~!” She sung, face pressed against the cold tiles, panting, trying and failing to suppress any and all enjoyment of the horrid act. As much as it pained her to say, as much as she despised him, Harley remarked on the Bat’s endurance, having already came twice. She shrieked in fear when she felt his thumb tease her asshole, and glared back at him as he  _ laughed  _ at her. The man could barely even  _ speak  _ without thinking of obliterating something’s hole, and here he was -  _ mocking her _ .

She fought back as best she could - through pleasure and wondrous pain alike, thrusting back against his crotch, ignoring that sickening, vile heat in her core, beating down the idea of “pleasure” from  _ this _ .

It was a mistake. Her second, and biggest, for the night. As she slammed her cunt back, clamping her pussy down around the veiny, hardening cock, he  _ came _ . Though, that felt like an understatement. If she had any further higher cognitive function remaining, she would have quipped that he’d “arrived”. The Bat just didn’t stop cumming.

He knew it as well - the quiet huffs and angered puffs had transformed into a roar,  _ a roar  _ of pleasure, bounding through Arkham’s haunted grounds! His already swollen testes  _ pulsed  _ further as Harley’s womb erupted in flames, toxin-laced spunk lining her pussy’s walls like a firebomb to a car. She’d felt a little of the edge before - no doubt spurred on by the Batman’s pre, but she  _ felt it _ now, too.

She came alongside him - and just didn’t seem to  _ fucking  _ stop. Her sex seemed to jitter and jill with lovely sparks of joy, as if  _ battering  _ down her mental resistance. He locked eyes with her as she turned back to him, with half-lidded eyes, and a tongue that had lolled out of its own accord, as if she was struggling  _ even to catch her breath _ .

“Smile, Harley. You’re on camera,” he growled, pointing to the tiny camera on his shoulder, then to the security cams on the sides of the halls. He pulled out of her, a hot steam spiralling into the air, mixing with their combined heat, and roared again, launching himself up. His baby batter practically jetted out the poor woman’s folds, pooling to the ground beneath her, staining her boots.

She let her ass fall to the ground, whimpering, defensively curling as she smiled back to him, damn near broken. Batman grinned back to her, and ordered her onto her knees, surprised at the quick obedience. She hung low beneath him, head facing downwards as he brought his dripping, balmy bellend to her head, waiting.

“She’s  _ mine _ now, Joker. When I take her fat ass tonight, the whole of Gotham’s gangster’s will see. They’ll know who she belongs to. And they’ll know that you can’t defend your own  _ property  _ now,” He cackled, smacking his still-erect length down upon Harley’s hair. He brought a finger under her chin, and stopped, smearing his soaked meat against her face, trailing her mascara and makeup across her cheeks.

“Who do you belong to, Harley?” He asked.

A pair of tears fell from her eyes as she felt her heart swell, and she had the sudden desire to dive her fingers downwards, to slip past her soaked panties and back into her pussy, to  _ jill  _ her weeping folds feverishly. She took in their combined smell, his goo, her love-juice and their  _ sweat _ , and smiled to him.

“ _ You _ , Batman. I belong to you.”

He smiled, and picked her up with ease, slinging the still shaking,  _ quivering  _ woman in his arms. The first in his collection, the first pillar beneath Gotham’s debased foundations, knocked down. He stared to the cameras once more as he slapped Harley’s booty again, smiling at the no-doubt observing Joker, and returned her to the Batmobile.

  
  



	3. The Empress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Batman begins to weed out the worst of Gotham.

Built deep in the brush of Gotham Forest, the "Carcerem" base had hummed to life, made to contain supervillains and super-paraphernalia alike. As such, it was separated from the common people as far as it would allow - still networked with Bruce's alternate headquarters. It's cross-shaped, overarching halls allowed a visiting hero to meditate, or should they need it, _interrogate_.

Lined with layers of lead, platinum, and elements left expunged, it kept prying eyes away, and kept it's prisoners sealed, tightly. Like many sleeper facilities settled around the world, it was used only when needed - and could be locked down or opened at a whim.

And it was within the pristine, lightly-dusted facility that wet, slickened slaps echoed off the walls.

_Plap, slap, slap…_

" _Oh~... B-Batbrain~..."_

_Plap, slap, slap…._

With her face down, and ass up, Harley took to her new life as the Carcerem's first inmate with exhausted, breathless glee. Documents were sprawled around her - and she championed through the toxin-induced haze in her mind to be able to aid her _warden,_ studiously examining his intel. Batman had buried himself in his prisoner's abused pussy, thrusting senselessly as he poured over dossiers - diverting his will to battle the toxin's grip, and his attention to planning his revenge.

"So," he growled, placing one hand 'round the back of the clown's neck, "no more?"

She shook her head as he began speeding his thrusts, shallowly rubbing against her g-spot.

"Th-that's, uhn~, that's all, Batbrain!" She whined, burying her head in her pillows again, biting down hard as she felt her stomach tense in prep for her next release. She felt his inquisitive "hmm" rumble through her whole fucking _body_ , and gasped as she came again, spasming over the knight's cock.

"I was thinking either Joker or Scarecrow first," he mused, groaning and shivering as her pussy's walls jelqed him, "take out any big players, scare the rest into submission… Any suggestions?"

He hadn't stopped thrusting, moving almost like a piston as his regular hero-talk became imbued with that fiery, predatory undertone, Harley noticed. She simply shook her head as he pulled out again, their combined juices staining her sheets, making her thighs positively _jitter_ with joy.

"M-Missus J's going to be deep underground for as long as she likes, and won't come out until everyone else is dealt with," Harley uttered, grinding back against the Bat's dick as he hot-dogged her, "Scarecrow's gonna be the same - and she'll only hit ya with the more pure strains of the toxin if you press on with her."

Batman tossed his current dossiers to the side as he took grip of Harley's hips, taking a moment to enjoy the sound of his meat grinding against her jiggling, wobbling cheeks, giving them another smack every now and then.

_Ssschlick, ssschlick, ssschlick..._

He thought on Harley's words, considering drawing the Joker & Scarecrow out into the open before approaching them again - he had to either wield that fear like a knife, or use it sparingly - lest his rogues gallery simply hunker down until the Dæmonia protocol ended. He prioritised the biggest threats to his plans first - the masterminds, geniuses, and savants poised against him, counter-planning his every move.

Internally, Edwina Nigma was moved up on his priority list, as were any and all mind-moulding villains. The Scarecrow had fared among the best due to her ability to convert a crowd via gassing, and not far behind her were the Court of Owls and the Mad Hatter. _The Mad Hatter_ , of all his foes, had her hands in the plot to shatter his image amongst the populace, criminal or otherwise.

The big hitters were also considered, but held less weight than the mob bosses, among them Black Mask and the Penguin's progeny. Bruce paused for a moment as he fought himself on the idea of punishing poor Penelope - _clearly_ she had her mind corrupted by the Joker, at a vulnerable point in her life.

She wasn't to blame; and shouldn't have been part of his hit-list.

But as he peered down at her image, attached to her file, he felt his fuckmeat stiffen at the thought of revealing her father's truth, dressing her in a tux and fucking her silly, parading the cum-stained Penelope as a _warning_ to all who might try the same as her. He fought himself for a while, only silencing that vile, vile thought with another morsel, one more tempting, and _much_ more deserving of his punishment.

Victoria Zsasz. Having broken out of prison recently, beginning a new string of murders, Batman felt she needed a dose of his therapy. What he'd do to lather up her scarred body in oil, mark her as his, chase her down like she'd chased her victims prior, and make her feel the fear that she brought unto others. To drag her from her apathetic, misanthropic shell and make her feel _alive_ , if only to serve him.

The thought made him cum, dick squirting a fat glob of clum onto Harley's back, ruining the remaining tatters of clothing. She would've complained, if the toxin-laced semen hadn't already begun meddling with her mind again, producing more enticing imagery of her _pleasing_ him. Instead, she moaned, going limp onto her cell's bed, and let the Bat tear her outfit's shreds off, dumping them unceremoniously onto the ground.

"M-my suggestion… Would be Ivy, Bats…"

He nodded as he flipped her onto her back, removing the remainder of her clothes, flashing her ample tits. He positioned his cock in between those sizable breasts, and began grinding himself against her, imploring her to continue.

"W-well, she's easy to m-manipulate, a-and… She could be useful in wrangling others. Sh-she could even help produce a cure for this t-toxin, by _breeding_ some new plant s-strains," Harley squeaked out, as the hero's horse-cock thrust gently between her sweat-drenched boobs, wetting them further with their tasty goo. What she didn't tell him was that she and Ivy _knew_ each other quite well, and a new face could've helped her escape.

It worked, as the cowl-clad knight nodded, deep in thought. He dismounted her, collecting the scattered documents, and made his way towards the cell door, placing a finger on the clown's head to keep her lying down. She tried following him, but became quickly aware of the pounding her body had endured, and groaned, batting her eyes at him.

Noticing the time ticking by, she finally realised they'd been fucking for _hours_ , and he was still hard!

"Rest," he ordered, "the more I bring back, the less I have to wear you out."

She laughed, not really knowing if he was joking or not, but launched up again as she noticed her complete lack of attire.

"Hey, no change of clothing?" She challenged him, crossing her arms over her chest.

He left without another word.

(...)

Ivy had heard the news. Or rather, someone's retelling of another's story of an eye-witness report. In the thick of night, in his own element, at his (arguable) peak, the Joker had killed the Batman. At least - that's what the talk around town said - what the plants heard and whispered back along the pollen's winds. Two shots. One past his armour's weak spot, the other to his eye. Some tales included the betrayal of Batman by the White Rabbit, and others say Batman had planned to go out like that - playing along with Joker's scheme as a way out of his painful life.

She remarked on it with indifference, her hand in procuring a stamen or two for Scarecrow purely meant for the sake of her plants - so that she may have ruled Gotham unopposed. So that nature would've overwritten the blackened, belching bowels of the city's factories - reclaiming the coastline in the name of the Earth.

One less vigilante supporting a planet-raping scheme - and one less anti-environmental nut on the hunt.

Her flowers began to tell a different story now, as she lay in the core of a tree she had nurtured in the Botanical Gardens. They trembled with fear as a darkness-boding, phasing phantom whipped past them, snarling, _growling._ A chitter grew in the underbellies about _something_ , a video? Something that had replayed itself on networks, spreading like a worm, forcing all to see it.

Trapped? Captured? _Fucked?_

Ivy opened her eyes, and refocused her vision, limiting her connection with the plants. Titan poison still flowed through her veins here and there, but it's side effects often worsened with prolonged communication with the spores in Gotham. Though she appreciated an eye and ear in every crack of the sidewalk, it took it's mental toll on her. It didn't help the majority of her plants, her children, were dying under a thin layer of snow.

Their "thoughts" could often become erratic - based too heavily in instinct, as there was no cognition behind the beautiful simplicity of her greenery. Not _yet,_ anyway. Still - the core "thought" was troubling; a human trafficker or rapist was nothing new in Gotham, but in tandem with it's self-propagating network-worm, and the disappearance of the Batman, it raised some questions. Caused some fear amidst the pollen, the plants.

She sighed as she slinked back into control of the bio-organic titan sprouting from the Botanical Gardens, and shifted her human niceties aside, body intertwining with root and vein alike. She hummed, as the warping roots ensnared larger pieces of the city, bit-by-bit, until that phantom flew by again.

It was getting closer to her.

As stamen fluttered gently with the wind, it carried the scent of the phantom by as well - a lingering, fused abomination of nature and artificial artifice, a _musk_. December's snow was marked with the lingering odour of poison, desperation, and pure, uncorrupted _lechery._ It was foul to her, another god-awful scent tied to another meatbag, but she couldn't ignore it.

Ivy found herself honing in on it - her plants catching it on the wind time and time again, until that shadow had to be, by consensus, in _front_ of her goliath. Too fast for her liking, she unlinked herself from her green-unity, and parted the vines that covered the front observation pane of the Garden.

Nothing.

A passing shadow, just like any other. Perhaps even a damn _car_ the plants couldn't tell apart from a littering oaf.

She sighed with relief, and returned to her central aperture of wood and willow. Connected with Gotham's greenery once more, she almost _vomited_ at the strength of the scent - sensing _vibrations_ , shaking at her supports now. It was _intoxicating_ , empowering, _overpowering_ , like an olfactory drench in gasoline; only to be lit with an errant flame. She couldn't help but feel herself, tendrils and vines slowly reaching out to caress her human body, her cunt _wetting_ at the musk. Two, now three sneaky green tentacles reached out and played with her pussy, sneaking past the edge of her panties, teasing herself expertly.

"What… What the fuck…" She breathed, the higher concentration of oxygen within her stigma proving a boon, quivering in excitement. Before losing herself, she banished that wicked, wild, primal thought from her mind, and unrooted herself from the plants, with a grunt.

She tried to regain rhythm to her breath, and found her pussy still wet - the tentacles still connected, _dancing over her body_. Ivy willed them away, and closed her eyes to focus - noticing only too late that the smell still remained, even now. Before she even dared to open her eyes, she breathed in once more - and took in his modified scent now, gasping in horror.

"B-Batman!?"

She screamed, flinging a mass of gnarled wood in front of her, and with a stunned gaze, found herself getting _warm_ again. Ivy couldn't see him. But, looking close upon the ground, she saw a distinct wet trail on the floor - was that _cum!?_

"That's so fucking much…" She huffed, desperately trying to follow it's trail, keeping an eye on every darkened corner and nook of her stigma, heart pounding in her chest. She closed her eyes again, and quickly disconnected from the plants when she experienced the full mass of the scent around her, seeping into every petal of every flower, every _leaf_ on every tree.

It made her knees weak, and yet, she kept standing tall, on alert.

"I don't appreciate _intruders_ , Batman. My children aren't fond of the man-made _suit_ , either…" She warned him, enclosing the very walls of her base closer to herself, removing any and all blindspots. A dull kickup of wind sounded out before she froze in place, something _huge_ , hot, and _meaty_ pressed against her back.

"Don't worry. I've ditched the suit."

A splash sounded out, and she fell to her knees in response - the very shrubbery on the floor doused in the Bat's sperm, _tasting_ every drop of it, relaying it back to it's mistress. She found her sex positively _fluttering_ at the sensation, her mind overloaded with it's _taste_ , and soon felt strength and control escape her - _sapped_ by a _scent_. With weakened edge, she attempted to send some ensnaring vines around the barely-armoured Bat, but failed, _groaning_.

He took grip of the malleable tendrils, and wrapped one round her neck, keeping the collapsed villain on her side. She saw him above her, attempting to loosen the vines, and _gaped_ at the mammoth-meat he planned to fuck her with. Ivy groaned with all her might, but couldn't escape it now - _everything_ was relaying the details of the hero's splooge to her - _texture, smell, composition,_ _ **addictiveness**_ **.**

"What… What the f-fuck happened t-to you, B-bat…"

Batman said nothing, parting the green-skinned Aphrodite's legs with one hand, and tightening his grip on her vine with the other. Resting her now-limp leg upon his chest, he shifted the fragile fabric of the frilly thing to the side of her gushing pussy, and inserted himself. He was feverish still, as he was with Harley, and maintained eye contact with Ivy as he began to ram her, his _horrid_ human flesh grinding against her pristine green.

He was gentle with the rope around her neck - careful not to damage her voluptuous body, but let her know with each quaking thrust who the dominator, the _hunter_ was. Like Harley, she stopped resisting quickly, and even now found herself squirting over him, catching cute little breaths in between rope-choked moans.

She submitted, so very quickly. Ivy began _gyrating_ her hips for another sample of that curious cum, daring to taste it upon her own human tongue before surrendering herself to the bat, and let her instincts control her, letting her breasts squeeze out of her hardly-buttoned top. She felt his gargantuan girth, stretching every pore of her plant-like skin, dripping it's toxin-stained pre all over her insides.

Even the simple, smaller dose of his precum lit fire across her insides, shooting off pleasure signals in her brain until she became overloaded, her pussy contracting and spasming on it's own - as if the _green_ inside of her was milking the male _for_ her. She came. Twice, then again, and again when he rubbed her stomach, groped her exposed breasts - danced his tongue up and down the length of her vine-wrapped leg.

"Uhhhhnnnn~... _More…._ _Moooore~..."_ She panted, blushing as he grinned at her - enticed by her cute, quiet moans, savouring the sound of their coupling as he did with Harley. Batman did away with pretense as that predatory sense kicked back in, rearing back and slamming into Poison Ivy, dominating her gorgeous green cunt until he could _cum_ , fully and truly, _filling_ her.

Growling, finding their current position unsatisfying, he shifted her onto her back, and lifted both her legs in the air, sliding her panties off with grace. Batman then spread the legs of his next victim, impatiently reinserting himself, and pinned her down to the ground. He reared his hips back, and thrust in, mating-pressing the babbling, moaning goddess beneath him.

His breath, _musk_ , were hot against her skin, and she found core twisting, warping as her plants were, with each crescendo and submission to her dominator. She tore open her top, and let him press himself against her, beginning to peak as his cock hardened further inside her.

"Please cum, please cum, p-please cum," she whined, "I wanna taste, _need a drop_ , _on my tongue, in my cunt~!"_

As rammed his fuckstick fully inside the quivering quim of Poison Ivy, he grunted, swollen balls now vibrating, shaking against her asscheeks. He smiled to her again as he pumped her, ramming back his cumming cock in and out, and fertilised her, sowing his wild seed. Still holding her juice-drenched panties, he took a sniff, and growled, before parting their bodies, breaking the sweat that bound them.

With careful deliberation, he removed his spurting sperm-cannon, and admired as she quivered still, whole body wracked, now on the hook of his toxin-laced seed. Batman cleaned his prick with the used underwear, and found himself ejaculating into it still, roaring. He mounted Ivy again, and pressed their lips together, tightening on the length of vine-rope a little.

They broke, the wetness of their kiss still connecting them.

"Taste this," he ordered her, stuffing her mouth with the juice-wetted briefs, almost _cumming_ again as her eyes rolled back into her head, senses overwritten by the power of the toxin. She tried to fight again - human senses briefly overpowering her animal sense, but _he_ remained the dominator, controlling her with ease. He flipped the now-kicking goddess on her stomach, and re-sheathed himself, slapping his crotch against hers with fervour, his very veins pulsing against every groove and wall of her pussy.

Nearly forgetting himself, he flicked a light on his lapel, and smirked at the breaking bombshell beneath him, craning her to look back at the camera. He squeezed tightly on the rope now, rearing her head back a little, as she tried desperately to remain conscious, feebly reaching for the vines on her neck - or reaching out to her plants, only to find them turning against her, entranced by the taste of his seed.

"G-Gt uhff mih!" She screamed through the taste of that awful gag, biting back harsh moans and soul-splitting orgasms, feeling the tears already poking at her eyes. He cringed at the harsh light of the camera, and lashed out with the last of her strength, only succeeding in making him _cum_ again, dousing her insides with a fresh coat of womb-paint.

"M-m-m-m-mmthrfkr~..." She panted out, as that cum came rearing back, overwriting even the very _Titan_ in her veins. Her arms grabbed feebly behind her, and after a little while, Ivy found herself using his broad chest to steady herself, rather than push against him. He searched his brain for a quip, for a clever joke to stamp on his next display of power, but found nothing beyond the maniacal grunts of a sex-fiend, a champion on the quest for lustice.

He let his animosity display it for him, let all who would watch it know that _they could be next_ ; nothing more than drooling, cum stuffed trophies for the Carcerem. Playthings for him. Once rulers of Gotham, reduced to _nothing_.


	4. The Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Batman begins to unravel the plot of the Gallery...

It felt like he was losing control. He was expecting to have numbed himself to the sensation of pleasure by now, but even with his weapon of a mind, Bruce still answered to the whims of his body. He could barely keep himself out of Ivy as he deposited her into the Carcerem, in the cell diagonal to Harley's. She hadn't noticed it before - but Ivy's cell was lined with dirt. Even hers had a few monitors and keyboard built into its walls, whereas Ivy's had an irrigation system and chem-tubes.

She took note that all cells were not identical - and given Ivy's new digs, they'd been specialised, built by the Bat himself. She also remarked on the tremble of his balls as he strode in, Ivy's legs wrapped around his head as he explored her ass with his tongue. It was enthralling, barbaric, _awful_ all the same as she witnessed the shock, pleasure, and sheer _embarrassment_ on her fellow prisoner's face - lips wrapped expertly around that throbbing monster cock.

She was elated it wasn't her - out of exhaustion still, and fear - and yet that mewling, submissive _bitch_ inside her wanted to remove Ivy from the Bat, and _serve_ him herself. She shook herself out of her own thoughts as he threw her into her cell, fucked the ever-loving _shit_ out of the plant-woman's throat, and left, clearly fighting against every urge in his body. Her glass door was sealed as she sputtered cum out her throat, before collapsing from exhaustion.

Harley took note of the Batman's brief moment of inner turmoil, which was quickly replaced by _hunger_ as he caught sight of her. He grit his teeth as he _forced_ himself to stop, going so far as to strike himself in the chest, diverting his attention elsewhere.

"...Freeze," he grunted, "Why did she help with this? What did she give to, what did you call yourselves.. the Gallery?"

Harley snapped her gaze away from his ramrod-straight schlong, still _oozing._

"I-uh… I-It was something to do with her w-wife, Batbrain… All she did was create the coolants for certain ingredients of the toxin, and kept them all sealed before it shipped to Missus J and I," she explained, heart beating faster, blushing, pussy _wetting_ as he growled lowly, fanning his scent out.

"... _Nora,"_ he said.

"So I suppose Freeze is next, huh?" She asked.

"Hm," he nodded his head, "I need someone handling R&D. To recreate the toxin, to counter it."

His body flashed with heat as the thought of the two of them crossed his mind. Freeze was incredibly easy to manipulate, and he knew Harley saw it too - but he wouldn't dare risk Nora's life unnecessarily. Her stasis chamber, should be active still, would be guarded well. Monitored day in and day out. His baser half came to the conclusion that Freeze would be much harder to _defile_ due to her requirement of remaining at subzero temperatures, and that cum icicles weren't particularly fun to play with.

Finding Freeze would prove difficult as well - usually it was a matter of tracing record-dropping temperature lows, but Gotham's winter had seen fit to mask the good Mistress' trail. On a good day, it'd also involve asking Alfred to cross-reference any large purchase of coolant, power cells, alongside shipments arriving into Gotham's shadier docks. He could've searched for the information himself, but found his hunger growing, lust boring against his will - so he compromised.

A quick clack of buttons on the outside of Harley's cell, and a monitor whirred to life on her side - leaving her confused as he sprinted out the door once more. She huffed, sighed, and leapt with fear as the communications console flashed with the Batman's face, veins still clearly pressed against his skin.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he intoned, speeding away in the Batmobile, "your new designation over this comms channel is 'Warden'. Are we clear?"

"I-uh, sure, loud and clear, Batbrain-"

"It's Batman. I'll run you through the basics first while I check out some of Freeze's old haunts…"

(Some time later…)

The comms screen eventually shutdown as Harley's job was done - locking her out of any further network access. With her mind clearing, she sought to escape, and began by attempting to fiddle around with the odd terminal or two in her cell.

Neither worked, of course. Batbrain had made sure to lock them down, powered only when necessary.

She picked at her cell door, at first sliding anything thin she could between the sliding mechanisms in the frame itself - using a torn strip of leather from her costume. It didn't pan out as she'd liked, but she still jammed a piece near the closing end of the door, to wedge it open next time he entered her room.

Finally, she bided her time until Ivy awoke, fighting the urge to furiously finger her cunt as the scent of Batman's seed still lingered in her room. She made notes of the small oxygen vents - plumbing, and mirror provided - as well as a small chute labelled "MRE", positioned to the side of her bed.

The thought was enticing - and she latched onto her hunger as a focus away from her growing libido, until she heard a groan emanate from Ivy's cell.

"Yo! Psst, Ives!"

Another groan. Harley set aside all pretense of decorum, knowing that the jail was likely empty anyway.

"Ivy! Wake up, ya hippy!"

"...Christ, my head… My _children_..." Ivy blurted out, wiping her mouth. She took a look around herself, blinked a few times, and sat up, trying to reconcile the past few hours of events. The green-skinned mother of nature peered outside her glass door, noticing Harley.

"Harley? What… The fuck, Batman, he… Harley, what the hell's going on?" She groaned, throat ragged from overuse.

"Long story short; we underestimated the Bat. That rape-toxin that you helped us with-"

"Rape-toxin!? I didn't help make no fucking rape-toxin! I just wanted Batman _dead!_ What the fuck did you guys do, and why the fuck am I in a cell?"

"Look, the original goal was to have him screw his _own_ team and-" Harley defended herself, getting offended at Ivy's accusations.

"I don't give a _fuck_ what the goal was - he's out there, and he's coming back with… _More_ , isn't he? And- oh Christ, that fucking _smell_ ~..." Ivy sung, fingers diving to her pussy, licking the cum off her hands. Harley was mesmerised by the sudden _ferocity_ that took over the plant-woman, and felt that sickening jealousy creep over her again.

"Ivy, let's put it aside for the moment - we _don't_ want to be stuck here. Batbrain has broken - part of him's still trying to fight the toxin, but it's… It's gonna be bad if we don't stop him, or find someone who will," Harley warned. Ivy didn't stop, but kept her gaze on the jester, nodding, urging her to continue.

"I've got a few ways we can try and break out, I just need some things from ya…"

(Elsewhere…)

Time was becoming irrelevant to him, and that scared him. What felt like hours, searching each possible location for Freeze, only took minutes - and hours of fucking were reduced to seconds. It was… _unsatisfying_ , Bruce found, the feeling dominating itself over his guilt, his horror, his _disgust_ at his own actions. It was as if he was fighting a losing battle; nay, a _war_ , on every front of his psyche, and all he could think was "I need _more_ ".

When he found himself in Freeze's lair, trailing from a dimly-lit dock to the ancient supports of Old Gotham, it was a godsend. He didn't really notice the temperature of his body - but he remarked on the steam rising from him; the ice and snow seemed to _melt_ in his very presence. It was all the more reason to worry. A suspended, chronic fever would cook his insides, his very _brain_ if left unchecked. Then again, Bruce mused that it was likely a better option than remaining this sex-starved ghoul.

He figured his location would be revealed almost immediately to Freeze - her keen eye would notice a temperature anomaly amongst her ice field. No doubt she had monitoring spikes driven deep into the shelf layer of her base. He had to think, past his rut, past his insatiable hunger for good _hole_ to fuck. Batman whipped out his explosive-gel sprayer, and tore out the ignition trigger for it, spraying as much of his body as he could.

It wasn't _perfect_ , and it certainly looked like he cared little for his life, but it would work. He cracked the gel in joints to allow him more freedom of movement, and to let heat escape gradually, suppressing a low growl in his throat. With a flip, he was in the shadows, following the beeps of computer terminals, the hum of batteries. Clinging to the roof, he noticed Nora's refurbished containment chamber, crystal clear and _opulent_ , radiating both light and cold at a stupendous level. He couldn't see Mistress Freeze anywhere, but noticed a small arsenal of weapons dotted around her lair, from a 9mm pistol to some icicle-bombs.

He had barely made it a foot into the cave as he dodged an ice-blast from the doctor's freeze-ray. _How did he miss her?_

"Your body temperature is reading at 41.1 degrees celsius, Batman," she warned, activating a swathe of drones equipped with miniature versions of her arsenal, all speeding after him. With annoyance, he shattered the remaining gel around his body, and leapt away from the drones, taking one out with a batarang.

Another two were taken out by a linked electrical blast, as a ray of energy rocketed straight past his head as Freeze continued firing at him. With a dodge and roll, he jumped upwards and tore a drone in half, leaving another to shoot him directly in his bare chest. Freeze laughed, stopping as he flexed, shattering the layer of ice.

"Cool your jets," she intoned, firing another shot where her drone had left him. The ice crystals spread rapidly over his body, and he found himself too slow, brain too muddled with horrific thoughts to shatter the ice in time. Soon, he was entombed in a block, crystal clear, and _cold_. So _very_ cold. He sighed, shivering as the ice threatened to melt against his skin, clearing his mind.

"I'm surprised you haven't collapsed from heat-stroke yet, or died. And you're naked... How long have you been like this?" She asked, slowly circling him as he felt himself regain control.

"You should know. The toxin you helped Scarecrow create did this to me," he replied.

She took a look over him, a scanner analysing every inch of his body, and paused as it was completed, her red eyes glowing with a harsh indifference.

"Remind me to never trust a clown, then. My intention when joining that rabble," she intoned, returning to her console, "Was to _kill_ you for what you did to Nora."

She placed a gentle, gloved hand on the outside covering of her wife's container, closing her eyes for a moment. In her other, she took the pistol from her console's desk, and approached Batman again, catching no fear in his eyes. No immediate response. No pleading for his life. He appeared as if he was simply trying to process what had happened in the last two days. Victoria raised the gun, but waited, allowing him a few last words.

Instead, he waited for her to pull the trigger, face turning scornful. He could tell Nora was looking worse - be it a mottling on her skin, or veins pumped with black poison - it didn't line up with Huntington's Chorea.

"Take a good look at me. Take note of my history, _our_ history, Freeze. What did Joker tell you?" He asked her, trying to remain calm. She blinked, he thought, the gun now trembling in her hands. The doctor took another moment to re-evaluate Bruce's condition, and sneered, cursing to herself.

"She… She _showed_ me things - a sabotage of one of the chamber's power cells - a degeneration of the cryo-tubing… Poison, Batman. Poison running deep into Nora's veins - caused by _your_ hand…" She uttered, taking her actions into account. Brain finally under regular temperatures, Bruce took a moment to analyse the twitches in Victoria's usually stiff face, the hollow look in the eyes, past the red of her goggles.

He knew. He sympathised.

"You were hit with Scarecrow's fear toxin," he intoned.

He then turned back to Nora, gritting his teeth.

"As was Nora."

In a rare show of emotion, Freeze roared with anger, firing her gun into the air, throwing it and shattering a failed container's prototype with it, quickly recomposing herself. She couldn't meet his gaze, but scanned his body a third and final time, finally looking further into what Joker had done to him.

"The clown had planned for you to assault your compatriots, I see," she joked, the warbled synthesis of her voice showing no hint of humour. He nodded to her, body becoming loose in the slowly melting ice.

"Victoria, I need your help. My current estimates give me another 16 days before I completely lose control to the toxin. I've…" His voice shook, "done terrible things, and will continue to do them unless I can put an end to this. All I _want_ to do is enact revenge upon those who've done this to me - the remainder of the Gallery - to turn Joker's own plan against her."

He paused, hissing as that dastardly warmth returned to him.

"What I _need_ is someone to stop me before I go too deep. So if you can see fit to put a bullet in my head, _good_. If not, then… You can use me as a weapon against Scarecrow. Against Joker. For Nora."

Victoria immediately retrieved the weapon, seeing the clearer option of the two, already seeing what _revenge_ had turned one of her allies into, and took aim. Daring not to reveal his identity, to give him some semblance of dignity in death, she kept his cowl on, prompting him to shut one eye. He felt the cold, cold embrace of the barrel upon his eyelid, and _breathed_. They would be done. No more.

He heard the metal of the gun, the barrel, _creak_ under the suit-powered grip, bending in Freeze's hands until it broke. She couldn't. Simply couldn't - even if it meant producing more suffering. It was awful, and yet she took a small amount of trust in the decision, knowing that _if_ any others were to suffer, she would be the ego to his id - directing it to those that _deserved it_.

"Give me the location of your base of operations and I shall meet you there. Allow me to take samples of your blood and semen while you remain suspended - I will test any trials on you prior to administering it to Nora."

His face fell flat once more, nodding.

"From what analysis I've done in the past, Scarecrow's latest toxins derive themselves from _Palythoa_ , a kind of coral," he advised, focussing as much willpower inwards as he could, fighting back that lust for as long as possible.

"Heavily mutated, I assume?" She asked. He nodded.

"You'd define it as a neurotoxin, yes?"

He nodded once more.

"I am no toxicologist, but I will see what I can do."

They both looked to Nora, as Mistress Freeze took samples from him - a needle to the neck to observe if the toxin had affected him at a glandular level at first, before she paused again. She looked to his groin, and shook her head, sighing.

"You will begin to lose control again if the ice is broken," she intoned, "I must have a receptacle nearby. I would ask you to flee as soon as the… _Deposit_ is made. Or perhaps leave it on the way out."

"Of course," he nodded, not happy that he'd have to ejaculate into a cup in the company of Mistress Freeze. Once the ice was thoroughly thawed, and he was free, he fled, completing the act as fast and as soullessly as possible, leaving the jar overflowing quickly.

The heat was returning. The urge to hunt was growing. Time ticked down as he sighed, the sun already starting to peek over the horizon.


	5. Two of Pentacles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Jim Gordon returns to hunt the Devil.

The _true_ cold struck Gotham overnight. Snow began to layer in sheets, chilling even the heartiest of the GCPD to the core. Coupled with the fact that the crime rate had _plummeted_ in the passing of 24 hours, and that the giant plant in the centre of the city was rendered inert, the police were on edge. Word had spread on the street quickly about certain caped crusader hunting in the night; changing from his usual prowl to a chilling _hunt_. Rumours flew about a certain video stream, and, after realising who the stream's targets were, it was quickly brought into evidence.

Called in from retirement, due to his expertise on the Batman, was former police commissioner Jim Gordon. Together with Zatanna and Jaina, they had given their situation a reconnoiter, holed up in a spare office in the department's upper levels. All 3 were hushed, silent, as if speaking would break a truce, warn others of their presence.

"...I've had a view of the first few seconds, and," Jim paused, _shivering,_ "it doesn't look good. It looks like a snuff film." As the stream began, he ran a hand through his greying hair.

The police-stock laptop that had a copy of the stream whirred slightly. Drumming his fingers, Jim let the video play for the meta-humans behind him. The first few shots were fuzzy, but cleared quickly - and petered out over the course of 5 seconds. Jaina clutched a hand to her chest as she shared Jim's assessment; the sterile environment and unsettling angles were staples of those terrifying films, and this, it appeared, was no exception. Zatanna couldn't help but draw comparisons to the Joker's taunting tapes from ages past as it began, in a morbidly humorous manner.

The camera angles stopped swapping, and instead lingered on a shot of a prison cell. Brightly, uniformly lit. Stark. Replacing the stream, in bold letters, upon a black background, some text read "WHAT HAPPENED TO HARLEY QUINN?" The question was answered almost immediately, and in the most disgusting manner possible. The camera flicked back on, and zoomed as a body in the cell shifted - focusing on her. Her makeup had faded, her body had changed, just a tiny bit, but it was unmistakably Harley Quinn.

She was naked, afraid. She barely had any bruising, but was curled up, resting, staring woefully at the camera. The angles swapped again - showing 20 total cells, each unique in odd, confusing ways. Then it displayed the halls - pointing in 4 cardinal directions. A figure stalked down them so very quickly, one hulking and _hovering_ , showing a tattered, hole-dotted cape covering a nude body.

The silhouette was undeniable.

"Jesus," Jim breathed, "dear _god,_ no…"

"Bruce…" Zatanna felt her throat _clench_ , staring back to Jaina, who had turned her gaze away from the video.

To the untrained eye, he was a phantom and nothing more. A ghost, perhaps even a glitch in the stream. And the cameras appeared to be _trained_ that way - swapping as soon as he entered the frame in any form. The monitoring changed - swapping instead to a point-of-view shot from the phantom. He moved with such grace and smoothness that it was almost uncanny; like a machine on a tripod, evaluating _meat_. His gaze focused on Harley as she looked back at him, and she backed herself against the wall.

"P-please…" she whimpered. The audio was too clear. Jaina _retched_ , and excused herself, leaving Zatanna and Jim watching, scanning for any sort of identifier or location.

"Can you get _anything_ from this so far?" Jim asked her, vaguely aware that she wasn't bound by the same physical laws he was.

"I need a location in mind, and this… The way the video is structured, it's like… It's like I can't get a feel of it… Have… Did you see how this ends?"

Jim paused it as the camera focused on a waist-height shot of Harley and her assailant; his naked body obscured by artifacting and video glitches. He sighed, skipping through the stream, heart damn near _stopping_ as he noticed the length of it, and stopped. Zatanna held no love for Harley, nor what she'd done to Bruce and the family before, but…

She didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve looking as _defeated_ and _violated_ as she did. What the phantom left her as was nothing short of _vile_. An act that could've only been performed in a premeditated manner, harnessing every last drop of hatred and rage one had built over their hard, hard life. And, balking at the remaining video, Zatanna gasped.

It was only just _beginning_.

"We need to stop him," she spoke. "We need to stop Bruce before anyone else gets hurt."

"Absolutely…" Jim agreed, closing the laptop's lid. "But we have no leads. No trace, and no geographical location as to where a site that large could exist within Gotham's limits."

Zatanna nodded, organising her thoughts. Jaina returned to the office, showing visible relief that the stream had stopped. The magician mused to herself, thinking she'd need to think like Batman, the _real_ Batman would, and reverse-engineer the phantom's steps.

"Who else has appeared in the stream?" Zatanna asked.

"Pamela Isley, uh," Jim shook his head, thinking he'd be done with the names by now, "Poison Ivy. But the department received reports of movement that match Freeze's M.O, just a few hours ago. We've got a rough path of where this site might be, but we can't search half of Gotham. Not when Batman's got his arsenal working against us."

"Th-that's why we're here, th-then…" Jaina noted, trying desperately to calm herself. "B-but what about the lockdown he initiated?"

"The what now?"

"Well," Zatanna said, looking to Jaina, then to Jim, "when this started, Bruce began a lockdown, uh… Something that stops the money flow of criminal organisations, enacts blockades and... I think it commences hiring of some form of mercenary counter-force?"

Jaina nodded at the explanation.

"Huh," Jim huffed, incredulous, "that would've been useful before all this. I suppose that's why reports and callouts have been dropping - no crim is moving a finger until the money starts flowing."

"A-And it costs to keep the lockdown running," Jaina advised, "up to a billion in 20 days, o-or so he told us."

"Right, Jesus," Jim thought aloud. "He's… He's prepared us for this, I think. Crime's been steadily going down with Wayne Corp feeding money into social security systems and education funds over the past few years, and… Well, he's given us a fighting chance to stop him. I'll send the suggestion to mobilise everyone the GCPD can spare, but…"

"-And we'll aide them. I'll try and scry for his location, I'll try and get to him first, maybe-" Zatanna interrupted, before Jim levelled her a glare.

"Did you not just see the same video I did? Bruce has gone off the _deep end_ , Miss Zatara. There's no telling what he'll do when he sees you - you'll be safer aiding from the sidelines," he warned them both.

"It's… I-It's my fault he's like this, Mister Gordon. I can't sit idly by while my other half _frolics_ around, baiting him out to the public," Jaina reasoned, steeling herself. Zatanna put a hand on her shoulder, as if to assure her the failure was not hers at all.

"And that… That toxin, it's Scarecrow-made. Bruce _needs_ to be stopped. He can control himself through something like it for a little bit, but… I can tell, commissioner, he's-"

"-He's compartmentalising it, trying to target his foes first," Jim finished for Zatanna, sighing.

"And there's _no telling_ what he'll do if he runs out of foes. Or if those foes get to him first, or if the Joker stabs him with another, modified version of the toxin. If anyone, _anyone_ has to suffer to get him under lock, or, god forbid, _put him down_ , then…"

She strode forward, putting a hand on Jim's shoulder as he stared directly into her eyes. She was inspired, impassioned by the steel of justice, and strengthened by it. She had witnessed the same film as he, and still, thought _Bruce_ could be saved. Zatanna looked back to Jaina, who, though grim, nodded back to her.

"...Let it be me."


	6. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Croc and Bane kick the hornet's nest.

Beginning with a bit of network-fuzz, a stream labelled "Laqueus_1" had begun to replicate itself again. Across all known Gothamite criminal networks, across all PCs and displays, a livestream played. There was the esteemed lover & toy of the Joker, Harley Quinn again - legs in the air as she was mating-pressed; filthy load after filthy load being dumped into her womb.

The angles only ever showed close-ups, focussing on Harley's face, her pussy, her ass and tits, never revealing her assailant. For the 4th morning in a row, this stream replayed itself, until Ivy's came into the mix. Until Harley got a new routine - both of them presenting their rears in the air, taking turns getting their assholes stretched wide by the well-endowed monster that had captured them.

The videos began and ended the same way - a wall of trophies, taken from the victims featured on stream. For Harley, her hammer. For Ivy, a single, ever-blooming rose. It was a ghoulish warning, but one that seemed to work well. Those curious, sickened or enjoying the carnal display, soon found new feeds within the livestream - featuring live camera recordings from either inmate's cell.

And to those keen, they picked out things. Certain times when the assailant would return. Certain ways the assailant would exit a scene, clad in nothing but a pair of boots, a cape and cowl. A certain heel-print they tried time and time to forget…

Within Carcerem, Batman held Harley's face against Ivy's blooming flower, holding her hands behind her back as he thrusted, mind awash with vengeful, angry thoughts. Ivy's vines had all but trapped Harley, teasing her well-used pussy, dancing tiny tendrils across her clit. She humped the jester's face with glee as Bruce dominated her, easily exerting his power over the villain.

"Nigma," he growled, slowing his thrusts, focusing now upon impact as opposed to speed, making _sure_ Harley felt him in her guts, where he _belonged_. He imagined now that Harley was the Riddler, green leotard ripped to shreds, titties flopping about as he'd ram her like the stallion he was, breaking so _very, very_ easily.

She was smart, oh yes, but that intelligence translated to little willpower. Harley had that in spades - and even now he noticed the occasional look she'd give to Ivy, how she'd feign giving into him. She was clever. Ivy herself was drunk on the taste of him - of his toxin-cum, his very _sweat_. He'd have to investigate further with her - postulating ways to turn them against each other, to keep both in line.

Edwina Nigma, on the other hand, would fold instantly. She'd prove ultimately unsatisfactory to dominate - lacking the physical endurance to go toe to toe with him, but he cared little for that. Part of his satisfaction came from the act of the breaking - the _pride_ in eliminating a threat to Gotham's safety.

As the name hit Harley's ears, past the gentle muffling of Ivy's thick thighs, she raised her head, squealing as she fell limp to the ground, cumming uncontrollably. As she jetted her jilled juices against Batman's thighs, she immediately dismounted, and took his length into her mouth, tears straining against her eyeliner. Feeling too weak to continue, she barely kept herself upwards as Batman took grip of her pig-tails, and mercilessly violated her throat.

"Are you able to synthesise my scent, Ivy? Mimic it?" He asked her, slowly bouncing his balls off the jester's chin, gritting his teeth as he shot hot cum down her gullet. Ivy was too busy fingering at her folds to answer, but quickly shook her head, regaining some semblance of composure. She dared not meet his gaze, lest she be lost in his eyes - and she tried her best not to _inhale_ him, as she'd be sure she'd lose herself again.

She played along, knowing that Harley was her only ticket out of the joint.

"I-I… I should be able to. Why?"

"The Riddler will be easier to take down if I can weaponise it. She's weak, but _keen_. Though even now, she may even know I'm out there…" he paused. Extracting his cumming cock from the harlequin's mouth, he let her fall limp to Ivy's floor, before scooping her up in his arms. He sealed the door behind him, and deposited Harley back in her chambers. Some very, _very_ dull thuds could be heard on the outside of the building, trudging through snow.

"We have some visitors. Work on recreating my scent, and I'll deal with them," he ordered her, flashing a most dangerous, insatiable, _randy_ look she'd ever seen on a human. Ivy was left stunned as he exited the prison - eyes darting between the panting, splooge-drenched Harley, and the studious, monotone Mistress Freeze.

Poison Ivy found herself shutting the noises out, focusing on her plants, on nurturing the earth beneath her - hoping she wouldn't fall under the scent's enslavement again. She set about, in her own way, for her own purposes, breeding the strains of flowers she was given. Sound deadened by the dirt, she repeated a mantra to keep herself sane.

Ignoring the riff-raff, Victoria Fries was hard at work, enjoying the comforts of Carcerem - using it's built-in laboratories and mini-server farm to begin creation of a cure for the Scarecrow's toxin. At the centre of her workspace stood Nora, set to face and watch over Victoria as she darted across the lab - crystalline casing reflecting all across the otherwise sterile, plain walls.

Immediately she had begun to discover fascinating, eldritch things regarding Batman's imbued bodily fluids - certain bindings the toxin had made to his DNA, his very lifeblood, had _altered_ him. The aggression, hyper-libido, and fever were all to be expected, but as the doctor ran through partial simulations, she found more oddities. Stimulation of growth hormones when introduced to other subjects - likely to induce a _mate_ better, to become more compatible - or _symbiotic_ with him.

Victoria had yet to test it now, but had made mental note to begin measuring Harley, pre and post coitus (if she ever caught a break) to confirm the process - beyond the general inflammation of erogenous zones during sex. If it proved repeatable, documentable, and translatable to _any_ of Batman's future victims, then she had a case for it to be used on Nora. The thought had displeased her, so she shut it down for now, focussing on deriving a cure - red eyes sticking to the data in the blood.

15 days to go before total toxin takeover.

Outside in that icy night, amongst the thickness of the thicket, the Bat stalked, circling round and round _them_ , a _pair_. They riffed like goons, were as loud as them too, but displayed builds too large for the generic rough-and-tumble toughies of his villain's armies. No, he recognised them. Recognised every strand of every rippling muscle on either woman's bodies - two titanic and terrible titillating terrors, one that positively _trilled_ with excitement.

_Bane. Killer Croc._

It had been a while since he'd seen either of them. They appeared less… Monstrous, than normal. Or was it the toxin talking? He remained low as he observed them, taking in their forms with impunity - cock now pressed straight against his chest. Waylon had shedded some mass since last they met - Warden Ranken's terrible experiments seeming not as permanent as they once were. She still flared her teeth, hunched her back, and appeared every bit as inhuman as she had previously, only covered in rags, barely hiding her musculature.

But the Batman's arousal did not falter.

He _welcomed_ it, in fact. The exotic abomination would be a fine addition to his collection, alongside the venom-junkie from Santa Prisca herself. She had seemed to finally ween herself off the catastrophic highs of Titan, only to be back on her old drug. It meant a slightly easier _hunt_ for him, though at the cost of combating Bane's unclouded combat sense. He fueled himself with the mental imagery of breaking them both - taking out two big-hitters before culling the weak of the Gallery, toppling the supports of their empire.

He figured it would only be a matter of time before Croc would catch his scent, as well. For as well as she knew of his natural musk, this toxin-enhanced mixture running through his blood would be like a _dinner bell_ to her. They had stopped, as the thought crossed his mind. Thinking quickly, he rubbed himself against a nearby tree, and took the treetops, swinging silently.

"I _smell_ him… Something _foul_ has been added to it, though…" Croc drawled, her hot breath crystalising on the snowy air.

"Show me then, if the Joker could not break him, I shall once more," Bane added, laughing against her mask, punching fist to open palm in preparation for her next scuffle.

He had to fight to repress his breathing - becoming overexcited at the thought of capturing the two. He could tell his dripping pre would only lead them straight to him, so he utilised it - trailing it into a trapped area of the forest. The anticipation of the satisfaction of the act of breaking them was dulled, beaten down until he could savour it at a better time, so he could focus his senses on the _prowl_.

Croc would be the easier target, he deduced. Though not as visible as Bane's venom-piping, she'd be easier to tire out, and overall had less muscular density than a human on a venom. Her keen nose would be an issue though, and they'd be hard to separate. Perhaps if it were _strong_ enough, maybe even a direct shot of his cum, he could incapacitate Croc as he did with Ivy? It was enough to start.

They both needed to be worn down - perhaps electrocuted, frozen by an assist from the doctor, nerve-centres attacked, or plain _beaten_ \- before he could subdue them properly. Once captured, they would need individual sessions, longer and more intense than Harley or Ivy's. Bruce kept the thought in the back of his mind as they approached his tree, and he feigned a slip up, getting caught among a patch of snow.

"Hah, foolish, Batman! Are your senses so _deadened,_ mind so _corrupted_? My, but the toxin has robbed me of our last _beautiful_ brawl." Bane challenged, placing her hands on the lapels of her jacket, striding towards him with an ultimate swagger, so very keen of her own strength.

"Kraaah! Such a _putrid stench!_ Allow me to tear his glands out so I don't have to _endure_ it!" Croc roared, running at Batman on all fours, kicking up the thin layer of snow spreading across the ground. She was hit by an electrified snare, tied to the thickest branch of a nearby oak. She endured the volts for a little while as Bane rushed the Bat, following the trail where she'd kicked up the forest floor's covering, ensuring she wouldn't hit another trap.

Past the volts firing against her nerves, Croc craned herself upwards and gnawed at the snare, tearing it apart at her feet once the electrocution ceased. She panted as she hit the dirt, and retched at the smell emanating from Batman, thinking it like the errant fog from a quagmire. It was rotten to her, but had an air of chemical, _bleach_ to it, as if someone had made a mistake and had tried to erase it.

Bane on the other hand, ignored the scent for the most part, thanks to her mask. She battered at him with controlled strikes and key grapples, finding it hard to pinpoint which style her adversary had slipped into now. He played himself almost drunkenly, stumbling about, drawing into that lust, but his eyes showed a keen focus that Bane saw past. She flew at him as he backed away from her, only for her next step to be a foot too deep, sinking into the hollow earth beneath it.

She stumbled, and Bruce took the momentum's advantage, firing an uppercut to her jaw. He skittered back, Croc taking the offensive as soon Bane needed to recover, ensuring he didn't get time to rest, to think. He made sure to strike nerve clusters, deep below the woman's inhuman physiology, to disable certain body parts. _One_ , he thought, noticing her left arm had gone numb, _two_ , and-

He was rocketed back by a dive-bomb kick from Bane. Thinking quick, Batman grabbed a clump of dirt, and threw it at his approaching attackers - sending the luchadora back with a growl, though not impeding Croc in the slightest.

"You'll have to fight dirtier than that, Batman!" She roared, taking a swipe at his head, instead filleting a tree as he ducked, putting all of his force behind a punch to her sternum. He followed up with a jump-kick while she was stunned, and nearly had his head caved in by an offside punch from Bane. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, elevated by it's mixture with the toxin, he felt himself close to _orgasm_ , ready to unleash himself at a moment's notice.

He leapt upwards, running up the side of the battered tree, and crouched low on a branch, stroking himself until his balls rumbled with release, cum jetting out his cock, splattering against his target. There was a muted sizzle as the semen hit the snow, and a much more audible _roar_ as it hit the monster's face.

" _Dios mío, qué mierda!?"_ Bane grunted in disgust, sneering at the putrid Bat. He went on the offensive as she tried to compartmentalise what had just happened, and stunned her with a flurry of his cape. He followed up with a battering combo, wearing down the wrestler's endurance, striking upon fresh bruises for maximum effect.

He had no time to even look at Croc as he continued his assault. The smell, the _stench_ was undeniable now - she couldn't block the _fucking_ offence! She wiped it away from her eyes, tried to mask the smell by rubbing dirt in her face, but still _smelled_ it. It made her reptilian cunt warm and _jittery_ like she was a common whore, waiting for her next rumble in the sack. It made each scale on her body tingle with anticipation - a craving for more of that _smell_ , that _spunk_. So she fought it again, and again, striking against her own nose, attempting to disable her own olfactory sense.

Whilst Bruce layered a finishing chop to Bane's neck, narrowly avoiding another grapple after having a rib or two broken, he flipped her on her back and tied her up, calling in an assist from Mistress Freeze. As he caught sight of Bane's leather-clad booty, jutting out below her bound arms, he came a little, spurting his seed across her jacket.

" _Nosotras hemos... cometido un error..."_ Bane barked between breaths, heart pumping with pure fear. She attempted a wild kick backwards, launching herself off the ground by crunching her stomach, but had her powerful gams bound in the air before they fell. With no further words, a grunt of excitement, Batman pinched a nerve on the luchadora's neck, stunning her.

Snapping his gaze back to Croc, he was almost gutted - getting lost in the reptilian woman's eyes - lit with lust, anger, _hunger._ She was fast, energised by the seed, bloodlusted the same, gaining ground with fervour. When it seemed like he was pinned, back slamming against a tree as he weaved through the snowy fields, Waylon stopped. Then, as adrenaline poured out of his system, as his body eased, Batman's ears picked up the sound of one of Freeze's gadgets powering down.

There were no ice crystals, no snowballs on the monster's form - she simply fell limp.

"Reporting well, for a field test. I've induced a temporary torpor. Get her to a heat source and she'll be active again within minutes," Freeze noted, turning heel almost immediately. No other words were exchanged as Batman nodded at her, tying up Croc as best he could - growling as he towed his catch, his _prey_ , back to his lair.

Harley shrieked as she jumped away from chipping at the tiny gap in her cell door, gaping as Batman dragged in one, two titans behind him - the _heaviest_ of Gotham's heavyweights, now being primed for a good nobbing. It made her _excited_. Shot shivers down her spine as she imagined what Batman would do - how he'd vary up his strategies, how he'd _break_ Bane!

She then struck herself, breaking from the thought, _punishing_ it. She wouldn't escape if she thought like that. Would never break from the Batman's grip. Harley breathed, and kept her eyes shut, even as those sounds, the _moans_ began again. The jester tried her darndest to silence the sound with a pillow, wrapped 'round her head.

Further down the hall, past Freeze's new lab, laid the cells of Bane and Croc. Bane's was simple, like Harleys, but had chains, restraints, and cuffs built into the walls - alongside a tubing system which supplied a sterilised approximation of venom, should the need have arisen. Croc's was unique, larger than the others, giving the monster-woman 9 feet of water to submerge in, covered by a reinforced grate. Her pool was lined on all sides with depleted promethium - airtight and virtually indestructible.

Waylon was left on the cold grates of her cell, as Batman prioritised Bane. The cameras were on, and broadcasting - the stream's true location masked behind dummy networks and loopbacks. The luchadora awoke, slowly, and reacted as soon as she was able - flipping herself and reversing her grip on the nearly-naked man, attempting to seal her thighs around his neck. He slammed her against the wall, and pinned her onto the floor, prying her thighs away from himself with a furious strength. To tease, to _gloat_ , he positioned his knees over her rippling, deadly arms, cock standing straight over her.

" _H-Hijo de puta... Debería haberlo visto venir…_ " She mumbled, summoning all of her venom-laced strength in order to push him off her - to launch her body upwards again. Whether by lack of power, lack of _will_ , all she did was exhaust herself further. Bane panted as that veiny, fleshy tower ascended over her, each inch pulsating with _dominance_. She felt fear clench at her throat, realising now that she was _prey_ , a _meal_ to him.

His white eyes beneath that cowl did little to conceal his enjoyment in her revelation. The Bat slowed his breathing down, calming himself to a point where his meat fell semi-limp against the luchadora's face, flesh pressed against the leather mask. With each breath, she could now _feel_ him, the blood, his _balls_ , containing that sweet, sweet toxin, _pulsing_ against her. Catching her cunt wetting at the idea of being ravaged by the Bat, she tried to shake his fat cock off her head, before his grip stilled her.

"R-remove my mask, and I swear, I will _kill_ you," she uttered.

Without a word, he relented, keeping his slickened, dripping cock pulsing against her veil - already marvelling in how hot and bothered the woman was. Reaching a hand backwards, his hand danced down her carved, rippling abdominals, past her pants and panties, down to her mons, finding it trembling beneath him. She clamped her thighs shut in response, still unable to throw him off her, and began cursing at him in her mother tongue again.

Past his fingers being crushed by those thunderous thighs, he trailed around Bane's bush until he found her clit, grinning. He trailed circles around it as his hips began swaying on their own - perhaps in subliminal response to her moans? Such _husky_ and deep things they were, Bane's ragged tones now sounding like a choir, a _song_ to him. She still cursed, still kicked, and still tried to shake that thick meat from her face, daring not to inhale through her nose - lest she be subject to the same insanity Croc was.

Through the leather of her mask, she could sense that precum, cum, _oozing_ from his tip, down her head. That abhorrent amalgam of synthetic nightmares and Batman's own olympian seed, _begging_ to be cleaned, licked off the floor by a _pet_ , like her. The more Bane continued fighting, the less she believed in her own strength, the less she felt she could escape, _kill_ the Bat like the others had tried. The more she wanted to gobble that cock and surrender herself to him, allowing him to prove who the superior fighter was.

She clenched her eyes shut as she felt her already tensed stomach tighten further, muscles contracting near her cunt, as the Bat simply _played_ with her, sickening as it was. Uneven breaths escaped from her throat, as her chest fluttered to keep herself conscious. The Bat brought his free hand to steady her face once more, and stroked her cheek, flush with heat.

" _Look at me_ ," he ordered her, voice gravelly, barely even _audible_ , "look at me when you _cum_."

And that was where she broke, the first time. There was a pause in the room, as if the very air stilled, where she could see the blood strike through his veins - the sweat trickle down his body - slowly. In that pause, that moment, she relented. Surrendered. Came, soiling her trousers, disgracing the mask she wore, and _revelling_ in her lack of strength, for once.

" _D-Dios... míoooo~!_ "

His dick spurted with glee, flexing his balls as that _trophy_ of a soundbite hit his ears - a reward, a _prize_ he gladly accepted - thankfully caught on video. Her mask was practically ruined now - and would serve the same use as the rest of the villain's clothing soon enough, _defiled_ rags. He raised himself, relieving that awful pressure on her arms, and stood the villain on her feet, giddy at her daze, her transfixion on him.

He circled her. Eyes fixed, evaluating.

"That mask will be your last possession, Bane. Everything else, including the very _venom_ in your veins, belongs to me," the Bat barked, stripping her of her jacket first. She complied, standing on wobbly, wet, and _wanting_ legs, panting as she wondered what his goal was. Bane nearly stumbled as his hands graced the bare skin of her arms, daring, _yearning_ for a controller - a _dominator_.

He tore her jacket in half, in front of her, perhaps eager to get a rise out of her. A protest died in her throat as he levelled a glare at her, tossing the top in the corner of her cell. Her shirt and bra were next, _ripped_ from her body, and torn to shreds, her perky tits jiggling in the air. Standing by for her sordid inspection, Batman shivered at the sight - _salivating_. Her nipples were hardened, topping her enticing flesh, scarred here and there - the crest of her weapon of a body.

She dared not hide herself from him. She was his. _Prey_. The collector to his hunter - a _prize_.

Practically drooling at the mouth now, meat erupting with sticky pre, he continued his prowl, and smiled. His body shivered in delight at the pillar of muscle that was her back - further scarring pointing sweetly down to her tight, toned ass. With one hand 'round his dick, he began stroking himself, silently, imagining pinning the woman down again, and _licking_ the sweat off her - tongue tracing over every crease of skin, every _muscle fibre_. For now, he calmed himself, savouring the thought for another session, and cleared his throat.

"Take those pants off, and toss them away."

She obeyed, unclipping her belt, the fabric traipsing down her legs. It was then he was greeted with a most fantastic, tantalising sight - those bare, beautiful thighs, built with enough force to crush a man's skull, supporting Bane's golden gluteus maximus, still sadly clothed. The very thought of the _danger_ from her legs alone made his cock twitch again, spurting a jet of cum against the villain's back. She shivered, exclaimed something in surprise and disgust, but remained looking straight ahead. He likened his cum to an offering - a gift to a callipygian rear such as Bane's.

Despite being taller than him, heavier by a good margin, Batman took grip of the back of Bane's thighs, and lifted her. She began kicking again, trying to throw him off balance, but he snapped his hands behind her head in a full-nelson lock, putting pressure on her neck if she resisted him. Bane continued to struggle again, fighting against that submissive voice in her mind, locked hands trying to claw at whatever of Batman's flesh was available. He continued in spite, shifting one hand to make a gash in the superwoman's black underwear - where his cock pressed eagerly against.

" _¡No, no, cabrón, no!"_

He impaled her.

With one thrust, he defeated, broke Bane, as Bane had broken him, years ago. Though with his pillar of flesh, he could tell she would enjoy it - and _learn_ to enjoy it if she didn't. Just as he couldn't stop cumming with Harley, his first villainous jizz-dumpster, he found Bane's cunt tightening, jetting, and spasming around his girthy intruder, _not stopping_. He thrust, sawed into the mighty warrior's love canal with a primal, _spirited_ force, balls quaking with release as they slapped against her stretched folds, depositing pint after pint of cum, _deep_.

" _¡P-para para! Paaaaa~... S-sigue adelante…"_ She growled, whining into the air like a pet would, growls and grunts turning into haughty, husky moans. Bane whimpered as her pussy betrayed her, cumming continuously, orgasm sustained by venom, by toxin, and by the sheer, dominant animosity of her lover. She found every part of her being going limp - surrendering again, as his arms locked her.

The walls reverberated for a time, with the slaps of flesh and a sonorous wail of Bane's voice, ripped and torn to shreds - crackling beyond comprehension. With every action her body undertook, she _shamed_ herself, thighs wetting, sweat pouring, body _blushing_ at her carnal comeuppance. It was as if every life she took, Batman repaid in kind, and then some. He was without mercy, without _care_ , using her as he would a _fuckdoll_ , only truly embracing her towards the end of their "round".

She mumbled to herself in post-orgasmic bliss, tight abdominals stretching and shrinking with every breath, every litre of cum fired into her ravaged womb. His fingers _dug_ into her possessively, to mark, to grip, to let her know who _she belonged to._ Batman shifted his arms one last time, clamping tight around her legs - hugging them tight to her chest, and dragged his tongue from her jaw to just under her eye - tasting the fabric of her mask, and finally, a _tear_.

He kissed her. Gingerly, tenderly and soft, for whatever reason he saw fit. Perhaps to take her further as is - her mouth now belonging to him, along with the rest of her titanic form. She wept, letting the tears fall from her eyes as she _fought_ that indoctrination, that dominance of the toxin now swirling through her most sacred areas.

"On second thought," he uttered. Sliding her off his cock with a great lift, gently laying her on the ground, she mewled as her pussy _gushed_ a torrent of corrupted cum onto the cold floor, gasping for air as she was laid down. She eyed him, fearfully and curiously, as his meat stood. It _jetted_ a tad, spurting more of that sordid seed onto the ground, and he mounted her once more, making sure to keep his legs off her arms.

Reaching for her mask, her arms snapped back to his, and her eyes cracked open. With all her strength did she resist, and with all his might did he _fight_. And she lost. And she shivered, cursing again, attempting to kick him off her in a final bid of resistance. Bane attempted to strike him - once, twice, then tried _biting_ at his fingers as her sweat-stained mask stuck to her skin, sliding off slowly.

"Para! No, _stop!"_

For all the good the Titan had done her prior, it was all for naught. She had lost, and she had been broken, by the broken. With a final rip did he take that mask, revelling in her scarred, gentle face - marred by _horror_. Wiping off his slickened, wettened cock with the facewear, the Bat then took grip of his veiny, pulsing rod, and slapped her unhidden face with it. He was gentle still, basking in the awful glow of her tears - her cries, and the poor attempts she made to hide her face.

It mattered not. Stretching the mask with a free hand, Batman held a piece of it up to her face, remarking in its softness, and slid his cock between them, fucking the space in between. She made no move to stop him, and instead, kept her eyes away from him, letting her tears fall.

"I own you," he advised her. "Feel me against you. Feel that throbbing, the pump of my blood against your _face_ , Bane. That's _defeat_. So tell me, who won?"

He stopped as she failed to answer him, cursing that quaking cock pressed tightly against her skin. She ignored it, ignored the quivering of her pussy with every _foul_ statement he threw out - and fought against that submission.

"Who won, Bane?" he asked, resuming his thrusts, moving one hand back to play with her cum-spilling cunt again, jilling it with sheer _rage_. "Who won!?" he cried, ignoring her growing moans, her shrill shrieks. "Who WON!?"

"¡V-vete a la mierda!"

With a growl, digging his fingers so _very deep_ inside her, he erupted all over her soft face. He marked the broken bitch beneath his bionic body, bursting bullets of baby batter in _bounds_. She _wept_ now, crying fully, half-smiling, still looking sheepishly away from him. He _knew_ who won. He stood on shaky legs, proud in his victory, and held the mask in hand. Placing a boot to her face, gently, he spat at the trembling, cumming, _quivering_ form of Bane, and turned to leave.

Before he could exit, however, she sputtered, and _dared_ to stand. He turned back, and, through the _war_ her mind fought against her, the assault of Scarecrow's toxin plaguing her entire system, she _stood_. Drenched in sweat, semen, and that unmistakable abhorrent miasma of _shame_ , she grit her teeth, fingers tending to her aching cunt. She stilled her shaking thighs, covering her perky tits. To his eyes, she looked like fury incarnate - a scorned, fucked, aspect of dishonour and _rage._

"I… I will kill you, B-Batman…" she warned him.

The remaining sane part of his brain thanked her, hoping she'd make good on that claim. "You won't. You'll break before you do."

Sealing the door shut behind himself, he didn't flinch as her fists collided with the glass panels of her cell, reflecting harmlessly. The quadruple-layered alloy-bonded frame didn't give way, and wouldn't have even at the Santa Prisca titan's _full_ power, Batman was sure of it. He passed by Fries in the hall, who looked upon him with disinterest - and she began her observations of the newest acquisition.

Turning into the next cell, a few spaces down, Batman met the cold form of Waylon Jones. Adjusting the temperature just a tad, he laid himself upon her monstrous form as he did with Bane, groin-to-scaley-face. Smearing his meat against the underside of her nostrils, he smirked as she stirred awake finally - perhaps at the heat, perhaps at the sheer revulsion of his modified scent.

"Kraaaa~... Remove yourself from me, Batman… Or I'll chomp that fucking _cock_ off!" She snarled, gritting her razor-sharp teeth. Excess saliva spat from her lips, and despite all the inhumane modifications that had been done to her, she was _breathtaking_ , in a way. In fact, her threat served only to energise the Bat, making that chomp-threatened rod simply _jitter_ in anticipation.

"Do it. Bite it off and make me bleed out. Or open your mouth and prepare to get _fucked._ "

Waylon was taken aback. Blinking at him, she howled again at the putrid reek of his jizz, and immediately latched upon his organ, almost unable to fit it in her wide jaw. With her teeth pressing against it, against vein and flesh, she tested him, cackling, seeing if he was testing _her_ in return. With no expression change - nothing beyond that fabled glare of his - she paused in abject terror. He _was_ being serious wasn't he?

She whimpered as he gripped either side of her face, and intensified that glare - eyes practically _glowing_ beneath the white of his cowl.

"Bite it off, or open your _fucking_ mouth," he ordered her, stroking her face with a thumb, his other hand slipping behind her head. She remained still, only moving her jaw as a dribble of pre squirted from the tip of his dick - directly onto her tongue. It was then that _creature_ inside her, normally a predator in and of its own right, _submitted._ In response, she lowered her jaw, and _squeaked_.

Croc had to brace herself. Even with the ungodly, mutagenic strength behind her form, she had to _brace_ herself. The force with which the Bat raped her throat was _staggering_ , _unwavering._ He did not slow and did not falter - throwing his legs forward into a jumping squat, using the hand behind her head to _fuck her_. He used her. He used her with no care to her safety, her pleasure, though, he surmised her gurgling moans were at his dominance; the scent and _taste_ of his cum.

"I didn't want to, _unh_ , do this, Waylon," he growled, thumb still stroking her face as she attempted to _retch_ , instead only sputtering saliva 'round that veiny intruder. Trying desperately to breathe through her nose, she locked eyes with the Bat as he looked down at her, face _torn_ in bliss. Her head and neck were leveraged and abused, far beyond what a regular human could handle, as he slid his entire length down her throat, only to rear back and _fuck_ it again and again.

Cum poured down her gullet, at the creature inside her _relished in it_. It betrayed her in every turn, morphing from predator, to _prey_. It was the most disgusting she'd felt, the least _human_ she'd ever felt, and she _loved_ it. The feeling of being used, like a toy, by Gotham's greatest hero, as recompense for her hand in his downfall.

" _Fuck,"_ he roared again, slamming once, twice, and thrice, pumping his phat loads into her waiting, tough tummy, panting as he looked down at her - a mix of emotions in his eyes.

"Tell me," he moaned, balls _tensing_ , "who sent you? Mad Hatter?"

She shook her head, and closed her eyes, sputtering again, trying not to pass out.

"Riddler?"

With a nod, he released her, a jet of hot splooge arcing from her mouth, onto her tits. Firing a last few victorious spurts onto her rock-hard chest, Batman knelt down again, and flipped the beast onto her back, ignoring her panting, her half-baked words and the mewling moans that escape in between them. Noticing her trousers were _soaked_ , the Bat got an idea in mind, and began poking at her pussy through the loose fabric, shifting her knees beneath her stomach.

"What did you think would happen when you played into Joker's game? Who did she have you rough up?" he asked her, taking a furious grip of her hips, ensuring she couldn't move, even if she wanted to.

She tried her best to move, to fight back, to tame the beast inside, but failed, _unable_ to speak, even. She simply ground her groin against his, roughly poking his dick to where her waiting puss would be. Stopping her, simply _prodding_ at her entrance, Bruce waited, and slapped her ass, admiring the meaty, muscly _jiggle_ beneath him. She bit back a harsh grunt as he did so, trying to regain her strength - a modicum of self-control.

"Fuck… _Fuck me…"_ she barked, voice low and ragged, gurgling with the Bat's spent seed.

"You thought I'd fuck you? Is that what you were waiting for, Waylon? With all the people you killed - all those you tried to hurt to protect the new family you made…"

He stroked his cock, moving one hand from her hip to harden himself as much as possible. His dissatisfaction grew as his dick began to _erupt_ again, just _imagining_ the force he was about to inflict upon this woman. His whole _body_ shook as he poked at her firm, scaled ass again, breathing heavily.

"I've tried, time and time again, to get you the help you need," he growled, slapping her again, _harder._ "I've tried to _listen_ , and to _talk_ ," he slapped her again, ignoring her cries, "but you've gone off the deep end, again and again…"

He tore open a rough hole in her trousers, but left her briefs, roaring at her _bitch_ scent. The beast inside her had _won_. There was no argument left for now, no more strength to call on - she simply laid limp and jiggled her ass against him, _pleading to be bred._ The rest of the Carcerem damn near _choked_ at the tension between the two, listening to the conversation with morbid delight.

"So tell me," he bent down, and whispered in her ear. "Did you _want_ to be caught!?"

With every bit of might, all of his strength and more, every single _muscle_ and angry, _bitter_ thought, he slammed into her - stretching her underwear into her _insides._

"Did you want to be _chained, Waylon!?"_ Out he went, revelling in her pleasured, rapturous _shrieks_. In again, he _crushed_ his crotch against hers, tearing her white undies in a few spots, roaring a ragged roar again.

"Did you want to be FUCKED," he screamed, thrusting again, "like the miserable," and _again_ , "whimpering," and _again,_ "ANIMAL that you are!?"

She squirted against him. So very, very hard did she cum. At the words and at his actions, feeling her mind _debase_ itself to fully enjoy this _foul_ experience. Her inner creature had flipped onto its back and revealed it's temple - allowing it to be _plundered_ by the hunter, her true alpha. The noises she made were inhuman, _awful_ to any regular, human ears, but to the Bat, they were like a release in themselves. Bane was _unsatisfying_ , and Croc, was just a _tiny_ bit better.

He fucked her with everything he had. Like his life depended on it, as if Waylon was the last thing standing between him and redemption. Between him and a loving, happy family, full of kids, with Talia, with Selina, or with Zatanna. He made disgusting, mocking love to Killer Croc as she continued to submit, whining, cumming, unable to control her very _body_ under his promethean grip. There was no more mercy, no more allowance, and not a shred of dignity left between them.

They were animals, and she was his. Finally extracting himself after their session, Bruce set up a camera detailing an impressive shot of Croc's parted, _gaping_ pussy. With the fabric of her underwear being dented in, it contained a prolific parcel of seeping, soaking cum, which quickly fired out her abused sex. With one final slap to her punished ass, he flipped her on her back, and spat at her face. She had the gall to _cum_ again at the degradation, and batted her eyes at him, clearly delirious.

He brought his lips to hers, bringing a hand up to stroke her smooth cheek, and sighed into that kiss, pouring whatever remaining emotions he felt into it. He traced her teeth with his tongue, marking her like he had done Bane, and broke from their kiss with a wet smack.

"You are mine," he breathed, glaring at her. "You're my _pet_ , Waylon."

She gurgled again, his cum _dribbling_ from her lips, _tasting_ him so very clearly. "And… And I'll be a g-good pet, Baby Doll~..."

Bruce smiled, and left her on the ground - taking the shreds of her prison-trousers with him. Making his way to the Carcerem's administrative console, he modified the stream once more, including the freshly recorded footage featuring their two new prisoners. Sighing, readjusting his mask, the Batman growled as the heat built within him again - barely abated by the two titans he took down. There was no _hunt_ to them. No final attack and no grand release. He'd continue to break them down while had had them, but he needed _more_.

The Batman needed to _taste_ his enemy's fear. With a clear of his throat, he began his recording, and left it _looping._ Conversing with Fries and Harley, he made known his next targets, and _smiled,_ knowing that they'd hear his warning.

Laqueus_1 replayed with a new introduction;

"To whomever hears this message, you are not safe. Your walls and your roof no longer guarantee shelter. Your lairs, your hideouts, and your holes in the ground will do _nothing_ to stop me from hunting you, and you know this. You have dealt pain untold to Gotham's citizens, and I shall be the one to contain you, to punish you. You are criminals, I am your jailor."

"And I am coming for you."


	7. King of Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Alfred gets a hand.

Wayne Manor was always, always a quiet place. On summer's day and on winter's eve, with the family in, or the halls empty, it remained almost silent. But, as the caretaker to the manor and the family, Alfred was keen. To every sound and step and slip, there were rhythms that he picked out.

In particular, Damian's footsteps were the hardest to hear, compared to Bruce's deliberate, thunderous footfalls. It helped Alfred greatly when anticipating a mood or request, and served him well over his years of work. And now, it was driving him a bit mad.

Bruce was gone. And Alfred knew only too well what was happening. All communications to the sister base of Carcerem were shut, designed intentionally, but Alfred viewed the streams they shared. It broke his heart, truly shook him to his core to see the lad, the _man_ he raised be brought so low.

Alfred thought of raising arms against him - even going so far as to organise weaponry and almost alerting the Carnifex for the Obsignatorum early. But he didn't. Every time his old hands held a rifle, every shot he aimed, he imagined the face of the baby Wayne, and the family he would later find. He imagined the shocked looks of the Robins, Batgirls and others, and faltered.

He felt weaker for it, for once. For the love he carried for Bruce. But he couldn't do it. Amidst the calm before the proverbial storm, he'd kept with the papers, and the plummeting crime rate as of the past few days. It didn't help his stir-craziness. It didn't help that he rejected every communication, redirected every transport that carried Stephanie, David, and the like.

It made him worry, and despite his warnings, he believed it would only be a matter of time before one of the family would break past the lockdown, and find themselves trapped in Gotham. A dark day, it would be.

It did spark a thought in him, however. A thought that turned into a plan - and a message that summoned help from where he would least expect it. He couldn't wade in the worry, the guilt. He needed to find out who of Batman's foes, beyond the Joker and Scarecrow, would poison him in such a fashion, and with _what._ He also, in a most savage fashion, thought this help would direct these conspirators to Batman's grasp, keeping him at least _occupied_ until the lockdown lifted.

Breaking from the messaging system he was checking regularly, Alfred heard a stir at the front entrance to the manor. Armed with a pistol, he strode silently in those halls to meet said disturbance. Beyond the lack of a doorbell ringing, the lack of a knock, he heard several loud _bangs_ cracking through the hollow halls.

Arriving at the foyer, he held his grip firmly, and remained steadfast as the intruders appeared. Clad in gaudy, steampunk-inspired getups, they struck Alfred with a sense of realisation that he may have been in over his head. Highly trained _assassins,_ mostly female by the looks _._ They were fast, deadly, and he could hear more coming - the front door was a distraction! Two fell dead before they realised who began firing. The rest fell into formation, throwing a grenade into the manor to disrupt him and break his range, but Alfred was surprisingly quick.

Wincing as a bit of shrapnel scraped past his arm, he fired again missing one shot, but incapacitating then killing another assassin. Cursing to himself, Alfred ducked behind a wall for cover and huffed. _This was not in any form of any plan,_ he thought, _but I'll make do._ He was going to lose. There were no two ways about it - and he thought if _any_ day were to be the day the Court of Owls attacked Wayne Manor, it'd be when said Wayne had been declared dead.

"You're laboring under the misapprehension that this house is undefended, ladies. And I do not take kindly to uninvited guests," he announced, configuring an alarm system from his watch, _blaring_ a wall of sound against the intruders. Witnessing them scramble, then tap their helmets, Alfred pressed himself back into the manor as a second wave of goons poured through the front.

They slashed through every defence. Pounded and annihilated every barricade that came their way. And despite 10 more being ripped to shreds by the house's revised defence system, more kept coming. More _Talons -_ the _dead_ , awoken. Alfred resigned himself to an awful fate, and left a message pinging out via his watch, should he have been slain.

The Talon's masks hissed with exertion as they moved fluidly - _too smooth_ and _too_ fast. Trying his best to weave through a storm of blades, Alfred took a nick here and there, slowing him considerably. It was only as he was disarmed, choked, and slammed against the ground did he make out what the hissing was. He cried out in pain, choking back a harsh growl as the gloved hand wrapped around his throat.

"Wayne… _Dead…_ " they repeated, over, and over. One in particular strutted their way to Alfred's struggling body, sliding past her now frozen henchmen. She replaced the Talon holding him pinned, and gave him a look over, curious. She slid off her mask, and let the butler bask in the glory of her unhidden face. Ravaged by time and rejuvenated by archaic, eldritch metals, Wilma Cobb made no face, but appeared to recognise Alfred.

 _Didn't Master Dick deal with you?_ Alfred thought, feeling his stomach _drop_ at this implication - had the very _Court of Owls_ been involved with the plot to debase Master Bruce? Where had they gotten their renewed Electrum from? Why were they raiding Wayne Manor _now_?

"We're here to take back what is rightfully owed to the Court. You can direct us to the vault of house Wayne, or you can suffer in your last moments, servant," she boomed, brushing the hair out of her face.

"M-Missus Cobb, " he cleared his throat, "it's a pleasure. I can assure you no such vault exists on these grounds-"

"-Do you prefer to go the way of the Wayne family, servant? It makes no difference to us whether or not you reveal the location of the vault - we will spread, and we shall search, for the Court. I am offering you _mercy_ ," Cobb advised, a deadly smile crossing her cracked lips. She didn't react, or perhaps didn't hear a sound that Alfred did.

More footsteps. He could barely feel them, tip-toeing across the wood. But there were many - perhaps _enough_ to take down the Talons. He had to stall her.

"And I am simply noting, with all due respect, that I'm unaware of the vault you speak of. Did your revivification affect your memory somewhat? How _did_ you find a way out of Master Dick's trap?" he asked her, feigning genuine curiosity. It paid off in the form of a punch, deep into a lung, cracking a few ribs.

Chuckling, the Talon warned him, "do not waste my time. And my grandson is none of your concern, servant. If he still meanders around Bludhaven, I shall be paying him a visit soon enough. Wayne's whispers will leave his skull and soon he shall take my place again as Talon. Now," she gripped his throat, and squeezed, making him sputter and kick.

"You've made your choice. Which wall would you like to be mounted on?"

His vision blurred, then darkened. _Not good._ Darting what remained of his gaze around, he picked the farthest wall by the fireplace, no longer hearing those sets of steps. Did he _imagine_ them? Was this truly the end? Alfred struggled in vain for what would be the last few moments of his life, kicking, expending the last of his energy before the air left his lungs.

He heard a blade unsheathe, and turned his thoughts to family.

And then, he fell. It took a few seconds, but he kept his chest steady, ensuring his shattered rib did not poke into anything else, and _breathed._ There was a commotion. Swings through the air - grunts, forces upon forces in deadly clashes. 20, 30 drops, before things quieted. Then Alfred blinked.

Wilma Cobb was standing, surrounded by members of the League of Assassins. They were fewer in number, but still stood above the corpses of the Talons with minor injuries. Slowly Alfred stood to witness their next act, covering his eyes as Wilma threw a pellet at her feet. The Assassins were blinded, struck as the Talon escaped, hissing all the way.

"Those vaults, this ground belongs to the Court, and soon it shall all _burn_!"

Among his saviours, Alfred sighed with relief, absolute and utter, as Talia al Ghul approached him. Their bodies were still built like weapons, though, at a far lesser cost than the Talons they destroyed. Talia's hair even looked _better_ for the scrap, as she shook it back into place without a thought. The rest of the League, save one, went about _dismembering_ the bodies of their foes. Behind Talia, her sister, Nyssa nodded to the butler.

"Your timing," Alfred winced, gently pawing at his ribs, "couldn't have been better, Miss Talia, Miss Nyssa. Believe me when I say it wasn't my intention for you to face down the Court of Owls-"

"-All for the better, I suppose," Talia greeted him, shaking his hand, "Nyssa had been yearning for a chance to test our latest graduates against the Court, anyway. My beloved…"

Alfred's face fell, outward pain now matching his internal pain. He saw as Nyssa's eyes darted to Talia dangerously, then softened. There'd been a conflict between them, it seemed. Motioning them to follow him towards the manor's cave, Alfred made a stop by the medicine cupboard for the strong stuff. He quietly thanked _god_ they hadn't yet exploited the last of their morphine.

Talia chided him. "Surely you do not _need_ such niceties-"

"Get to my age, crack a rib, then say that again," he bit back instantly, comfortable even just _feeling_ the stuff in his veins, eager to advise the two before nodding off.

"Master Bruce's condition has only worsened since my message was sent, I-I'm afraid. He's… Warped, deflected an attack on his mental faculties - Crane's _fear toxin_ ," Alfred explained as he punched in a code to a basement's access, leading the leaders of the League of Assassins deeper into the Earth.

Seeing Talia's confused face, Nyssa couldn't help but snort, " _Scarecrow_ , she called herself."

"I _know_ who she is," Talia hissed, turning her attention back to Alfred, "I've heard the news, as well. The… Streams have appeared on our networks, and we've been unable to shut them down."

"His golden rule reveals more flaws, it seems," Nyssa noted, shaking her head, "or he has finally _snapped_."

Alfred shook his head as they approached the amphitheatre of the Batcave - wreathed in monitors, gadgets, armour sets and more. In particular, Nyssa was broken out of her train of thought by a giant statue of a dinosaur, looking over the cave's systems.

"Perhaps his sanity slipped earlier than I thought."

"I can assure you, this toxin, this _plan_ of the Joker's, it…" Alfred paused for a time, sighing as he brought up a list of potential targets, those involved in the plot to kill the Bat.

"The clown had a hand in this?" Talia's tone dropped, icy wrath spewing from her mouth as she remembered _her_.

"I'm afraid so," Alfred lingered on the last picture of Bruce - looking pallid. "The Joker finally took the plunge. She collaborated, exhausted every contact and every lead she had - even the _crumbs_ of scientific pull herself and Harley Quinn had, to make this _vile_ toxin."

Bringing it's projected list of effects up - limited and retroactive - Nyssa couldn't help but _gape_ in sight of it. Talia instead looked on with neutral interest, that line of her lips only crumbling as she witnessed what that poison had done to her beloved.

"It's turned him into a monster. An animal," she noted, remembering the last streams.

"One that should be put down for the good of the world," said Nyssa, sneering at the image, and _every act_ Bruce had committed as a result of it. "This could be a _grand excuse_ for him to transform the underbelly of Gotham into a playground, his own personal pleasure palace."

Alfred couldn't help but sigh a weary sigh again. "Ignoring how very _convoluted_ such a plot would be, Mistress Nyssa, I fail to see how the Joker procuring the aide of no less than 10 others of the Gallery could _ever_ be a part of Master Bruce's plans."

"You may not grasp the situation fully," he calmed himself, "but that was a deliberate, premeditated action, orchestrated by the Joker. That alone, should you know her, should _shock you to your core_. The only reason she cared for such an alliance to form - at such a _defenceless, unassuming_ point for Master Bruce - was to wreak as much chaos as she could."

Nyssa appeared sheepish, turning her gaze back to the historic armour sets of the previous Robins, including her nephew's own.

"The increased sex drive was intentional?" Talia asked, incredulous.

"In summation, from Mistress Zatanna's account, Joker's intention was to undo Gotham's rehabilitation, to remove the _fear_ Master Bruce helped establish in the criminal population. To defame and debase him. From this, we can extrapolate the mutative plans for the toxin, and what Joker intended for it's next steps," he advised her, heart near _seizing_ as he produced the projected, assumed path of the toxin.

Talia read them, all of them, twice. _Betrayal of Bat-Family. Alliance with Gallery. Impregnation of females of Bat-Family. Rape of Bat-Family. Rape of civilians. Murder of civilians. Total cranial shutdown. Onset of mania. Onset of dementia._

Talia then remembered that this was _not_ Bruce's first exposure. "How… How often is-?"

"-Master Bruce has been exposed to variations of the Scarecrow's fear toxin 34 times before, each with varying degrees of effectiveness. Some have required months of therapy, others… Others he took in. Weaponised for future threats."

"To think this would have been mitigated if Crane was killed. How many more have been affected by her toxin and _died_?" Nyssa challenged.

Alfred didn't answer her. Instead he turned to Talia.

"Mistress Talia, these are only my rudimentary projections. From what I can see so far, Master Bruce is actively working against the toxin - but adapting it such that his lust is taken out upon the Gallery. He is _actively_ working against the Gallery, utilising the toxin as his weapon. What… What I need from you is to either _stop him_ , or…"

"Help lure more of the evil to him. Keep him distracted until the toxin runs out," she answered for him, sage-like and battle worn. Talia and Nyssa shared a look, and Talia looked past her, to Damian's old suit.

"My son, Alfred…"

"He is safe. He and Jon Kent are leading the Titans as we speak. They are unaware of what is happening."

She nodded. It was for the best. And Talia made her choice, thinking of her loved ones, and her family.

The good would not suffer under the machinations of evil. The evil would _not_ die by Bruce's hand. But, for their crimes, their acts… Evil would pay. She would help her beloved.

"...Where to begin?"


End file.
